Snare
by Raum
Summary: "The lives of Charlie and Bella Swan were devastated when Renée was murdered by a serial killer: The Drainer. Charlie, a former FBI profiler, is convinced that the killer is a vampire, and that those creatures are real. Nobody believes him, till the day he captures one of the undead." AU.
1. The Drainer

**Raum**

_**Snare**_

"The lives of Charlie and Bella Swan were devastated when Renée was murdered by a serial killer: The Drainer. Charlie, a former FBI profiler, is convinced that the killer is a vampire, and that those creatures are real. Nobody believes him, till the day he captures one of the undead."_**  
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**[1-28-2013]** A big portion of this story was written during my first NaNoWriMo (November 2012). I completed NaNoWriMo with more than 51,000 words, but the whole story will be much longer. _Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s fantastic prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**. Thanks also to** Emergency Beta Service**.**  
**

_Snare_ is based on _Twilight_ – which, as you probably know, I don't own – and on other fics, such as _True__Nature_ or _Soldier__X_. Charles Swan is loosely based on some characters from the popular TV series _Criminal__Minds_. Anyway, this is NOT a crossover. Expect one hundred percent _Twilight_, vampires included.

Enjoy!

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**Chapter ****1**

**The ****Drainer**

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"Better be important," Charles Swan grumbled into the phone. The call had awakened him in the middle of the night, just when it seemed that his usual nightmares wouldn't disturb his slumber.

"Sherman talking. I'm in a motel in Tacoma. Can you get here tonight?"

Charlie's blood went cold at the news that Brian Sherman, the FBI special agent who had been his partner for years in the Bureau, was in the city where they used to meet. "Has something new turned up about...?"

He didn't need to complete the sentence. His colleague knew how Charlie hated the nickname the media had given to the serial killer who had stolen everything from him. Years before, The Drainer had slaughtered eight people in the Seattle area. The bodies had been found in awful condition—some showed signs of massive blunt force trauma, while others had been partially burned—and they all had one thing in common: every one of them had been bled dry.

"I can't tell you anything more over the phone. Come here and we'll talk."

"I'm on my way."

He knew the cold feeling that had gripped him at Sherman's words wouldn't release him anytime soon. Even scribbling a note for his daughter, telling her that he had to leave, became a difficult task. Bella would understand immediately why her father had been called away overnight, and she would remember, too. The old pain would invade her–the old fear. Charlie regretted that he wouldn't be there to comfort his little girl when she woke up in the morning. _Love, __Dad_, he signed at the end of the note. There had been a time when he would have hesitated to say the L-word out loud, even to his wife. But now that he'd had to live every day of the last six years wishing he'd said "I love you" to Renée on the last morning he'd seen her, it was different.

He tried to calm down on his way to Tacoma. Since he'd left the Bureau, his former colleagues had usually summoned him for one of two reasons. The first (and official) one was his outstanding competence as a profiler. He had been dubbed "Scuba Diver," because he could delve more deeply than anyone else into the abyss that the mind of a serial killer represented. After his early retirement, he'd agreed to be a consultant for some cases; in addition to the criminals who had been caught while he was still working in the field, a growing list of killers had also been stopped, thanks to his recent investigations.

Sherman's rare calls always connected with the second reason, though. When Charlie's obsession with the Drainer had ended up swallowing all his time, to the point that he'd left his job, Sherman had been the only colleague with whom he'd shared his new lines of research. He had supported Charlie when he'd been removed from the investigation after going from being one of the best agents on the case to being the husband of one of the victims. Bending the rules, he'd continued to keep him posted about the team's findings. Charlie knew how things worked with serial killer investigations, and the Drainer had been no exception: the agents had reached a dead end, and other cases had taken over their attention. The files had ended up under piles of newer folders on the agents' desks, before going to gather dust in an archive.

When Charlie had begun to delve into his anthropology studies and the legends that, through different cultures and centuries, dealt with creatures who drained human blood to feed upon, Sherman had been skeptical. He'd worried that his friend's grief for the loss of his wife had become stronger than his sanity. That was the last they spoke of it, until Charlie had talked with him about the documents of Project 98331.

Charlie entered the address Sherman had given him on his GPS, then sent him a quick text. _I'll __be __there __in __less __than __an __hour_.

_Good_, Sherman replied. _I __was __afraid __you __were __at __that __lodge __of __yours._

_The __Lodge. __If __he __only __knew..._Charlie thought. He'd already alerted his assistants, in case he needed to put the place to its intended use; he wondered if that need would arise tonight. He went through different scenarios, not knowing what to wish for.

The official version was that he'd retired in order to write books and go on lecture tours, and that he spent the rest of his time in a secluded lodge he'd had built in the middle of nowhere. Not even Sherman had ever been invited there.

Since Charlie was rich – he could count on the earnings of his work and the huge inheritance his parents had left him – and fiercely secretive, there were rumors about the lodge. Many people imagined it was the luxurious retreat of a brilliant, wealthy man who was starting a new life after facing a tragedy; others believed it was his way of continuing to grieve for his wife when he couldn't move on.

No one could have guessed that the lodge was in fact a small prison, equipped with state-of-the-art security systems. It was designed to keep a supposedly indestructible creature captive, should Charlie ever be able to catch one. In the meantime, it was used for experiments, as well as a place to file away the results of his secret studies, but the cell had never been put to use. At least so far.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"You were on the right track," were Sherman's first words when Charlie arrived at the motel.

"What brought you to Seattle?"

"There's been an explosion in the Olympic peninsula, deep in the forest, and a cabin was destroyed. My team was summoned because there was an alert for a terrorist cell, but it turned out to be a false alarm," Sherman explained. "The current theory is that the explosion was caused by a propane cylinder, but I think there might be more to it. I called you because I'm afraid I've found something that might be related to Project 98331."

Charlie's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Sherman retrieved his tablet computer from his suitcase. "I don't need to remind you that I'm risking my job..."

"I know," Charlie told him quietly. "Thank you for understanding what it means to me."

Among the pictures taken at the scene, there were a few that made it clear that the cabin and surrounding woods had been the theater of a fight before the explosion and the fire. Sherman talked him through the photos, pointing out to the flattened vegetation, freshly broken twigs, shreds of clothing, and what appeared to be the scattered remains of a cell phone.

"Did you find bodies at the scene?" Charlie asked.

"No." Sherman pointed to a detail in one of the pictures. "But look at these." On the tree trunk was a series of indentations that bore an uncanny resemblance to fingers. It was as if a human hand had grasped the trunk and squeezed. Of course, no human could possibly have had the strength to leave such marks.

"What the hell...?"

"I thought about those...super-agents you talked about."

Sherman recalled the day Charlie had first shared his theory about a connection between Project 98331 and the modus operandi of the serial killer he was studying. According to some papers from the 98331 folder that dated back to the second World War, the Nazis and Fascists had possessed a small number of super-soldiers who seemed indestructible. The intelligence had found evidence of their involvement in a few military operations, but by the end of the war, no trace of them remained. The first element to catch Charlie's attention was the mention of the preferred killing method of those super-agents: they left their victims drained of blood. They had been able to kill their targets – who were no less than expert, high-profile military men – before they could use their weapons, and the intelligence had surmised that they'd used some sort of venom to incapacitate their victims.

The second element had been even more shocking. More than fifty years later, the agents working on the Drainer's cases had found an unknown substance adhering to a few pieces of evidence. It was a transparent, sticky fluid, and the best researchers had been unable to determine what it was or how it could be used, let alone if it was relevant to the crimes. Charlie had insisted on continuing the experiments, but the only significant step had been the discovery that very high doses of vitamin D could influence the substance's chemical structure; samples treated with it were sensitive to the sun and highly reflective. He had called it venom, using the same term he'd read in the old reports in the 98331 folder.

His superiors had quickly dismissed that line of research. The Drainer hadn't struck in some time, and the case become cold. It had been the final straw for Charlie, and he retired shortly after that.

"I need to survey the scene."

"It's too risky," Sherman objected. "We've kept the media at bay so far, so if someone discovers that you've been there, they'd know immediately that I'm the one who tipped you off."

"But you called me, so it means you haven't ruled out the possibility that I could be right, have you? Nobody would know I was there. Have the agents and the firemen left?"

"Yes."

"Please, Brian. I'll be quick and they'd be none the wiser."

"I should have known better," Sherman mumbled, giving Charlie the directions to the burnt cabin.

-x-x-x-x-x-

An inferno. That was Charlie's first impression of the scene. He made his way toward the inner part of the cabin, taking as many pictures as he could, desperate to find further evidence to support his theory besides the marks on the tree. To his disappointment, he found nothing of interest. With a sigh, he turned to leave; perhaps he would have better luck outside. He needed to get some fresh air anyway, because the stench inside was overpowering. The cabin stank of wood smoke, mixed with a smell he didn't recognize – pungent and sickly sweet.

He'd just stepped through the doorway when he heard a noise behind him—it sounded like part of the cabin's ruins had collapsed. Heart pounding, he turned back.

Under a fallen beam there was a young man – but not the _corpse_ of a man, like he might have expected. He was flat on his stomach, surrounded by debris, his clothes shredded and stained with soot. Charlie stepped slowly toward him. He checked the tracks the boy had left behind himself and surmised that he must have crawled until the beam had fallen on him, blocking him under its weight. His gaze moved to the boy's face: a mop of unruly brown hair covered his forehead, and his half-closed eyes were an amber hue that reminded Charlie of a snake's gaze. As he took another step toward him, the young man uttered a growl. There was a desperation in the sound that brought to mind a wounded animal, and wounded he was, judging by the long gash that had almost severed his head from his neck. Charlie froze when he looked closely at the wide cut, his heart pounding even faster than before.

The boy was not bleeding–at least, he wasn't losing blood. Instead, a strange, transparent fluid oozed from the gash. When the creature growled, the flow increased, and it seemed to exhaust his energy, because he closed his eyes and stopped moving. He continued to breathe, but with shallow gulps that made him shake on the ground.

Charlie opened his briefcase and retrieved a syringe and a vial. As he prepared the syringe, he thought about his studies concerning vitamin D. _If __my __guess __is __right, __it's __the __only __chance __I __have __to __impede __his __recovery __and __keep __him __under __control_. He closed the distance between himself and the boy. He knew he had one opportunity, and that if he was wrong, he'd be dead before he even realized that the creature had moved.

The sweet, pungent scent that pervaded the cabin grew stronger as he crouched beside the boy, coming in thick waves from the gash in his neck. Touching the skin around the wound gave him all the confirmation he needed: the cold tissue, as hard as marble, couldn't belong to a human. Before him was one of those creatures who, until now, belonged to the world of myth. When the vial's contents were pushed into the wound, the features of the young man relaxed, as if he'd slipped into a coma.

In the early morning, under a cloudy sky, Charlie entered the lodge and gave orders to open the cell. Not long after he was locked in, the prisoner began to regain consciousness.

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**Thanks for reading!**

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**Notes**

The project's number, 98331, is not a random number. Can you guess what it is?

The next chapter is due to be posted next Monday.

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

_Snare_'s extras are posted on: h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/


	2. Carrot and Stick

**Raum**

_**Snare**_

**[2-04-2013]** Thank you, thank you, thank you for the amazing response after the first chapter. You're terrific!

I don't own _Twilight_ or a lodge in the woods.

* * *

**Chapter ****2**

**Carrot ****and ****Stick**

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_It __hurts... it __hurts! __I __don't __want __to __burn... please, __not __again...__flames! __Fire __everywhere!_

_Carlisle! __CARLISLE!_

_My __father __turned __to __ashes. __No!_

_It's __my f__ault. __To __save __me... you __shouldn't __have __fought __for __me..._

_Why __doesn't __Death __want __me?_

The vampire prowled his cell like a panther, driven mad by captivity. His personal prison had gates stronger than the walls of his cell: his infallible memory would never let him escape the pain of the night of his capture. The night when he'd lost his father.

A new stream of thoughts intruded on his memories; Swan was approaching. Edward caught the first traces of his mental images as the human pulled up in his car. Although Edward's two-month stay at the prison had been spent locked in his cell, his mind-reading abilities had given him a window to the outside world, and over time, he had formed a mental picture of the prison and surrounding area. Through his guards' minds, he'd seen the corridors, the heavy doors, the security systems – even the flamethrowers and the explosives that would serve to destroy him, should it be necessary. He could have walked around in the building as if he'd actually explored it, but frustration still pervaded him because he didn't get more than the imperfect, nebulous images that a human mind could register, missing all the details that his heightened senses would have caught.

"Morning, Walsh," Swan told his assistant. Aside from the private security guards, Robert Walsh was the only one currently on duty at the bunker.

Edward tuned out Walsh's thoughts. As long as it wasn't strictly necessary, he had no more desire to visit that prick's mind than he did to enter a sewer.

As for Swan, his internal musings weren't following their everyday course. Usually, the dutiful profiler channeled all his energy into his study of the most extraordinary subject he'd ever had; but at present he was recalling the night when the vampire had been captured and brought to the prison.

Edward hesitated, reluctant to relive that moment through the memories of the first man who had trapped one of his kind. But he didn't want to be a coward, and hence he made no effort to ignore or distract himself from Swan's thoughts. He would endure those damned hours again, this time through his captor's eyes.

Mirrored in Swan's mind, he saw himself being carried to the cell, unconscious. An unconscious vampire...it was something he would not have believed possible before this. The last time he'd lost consciousness had been in a different world, more than two centuries before.

-x-x-x-x-x-

At the time, Edward had been a young Englishman on the Grand Tour. An elegant man had attracted him to Volterra, luring him with the chance to admire his private collection of art and the treasures of the Italian city. But once there, he'd revealed his true nature and prepared Edward for what he and his companions called a "banquet."

Edward knew the rest of the story because, when he'd awoken from his change and discovered what he'd become, Carlisle had answered his questions in earnest and had explained how his human life had been taken.

The powerful vampires who had captured him were guards of a coven called the Volturi, who could not accept that, in defiance of their natural instincts, Carlisle refused to prey on humans, feeding only on animals. So they'd offered Edward to him, trying to tempt him to taste his blood. To be sure that Carlisle wouldn't let the game escape, they'd broken Edward's bones and damaged his body to the point that no one could have healed him. They wanted to amuse themselves by watching Carlisle draining a human for the first time, but he'd begged them to leave him have his meal in private, in the forest. The Volturi had suspected nothing, assuming that he merely wanted to make his first human kill away from curious onlookers; Caius objected, but Aro had the last word. Since he considered Carlisle a friend, he'd finally relented. Once alone with Edward, Carlisle hadn't drained his blood; instead, he changed him.

_I'm __sorry_, was the first thing Carlisle had told Edward when he had awoken from his change. The kindness the new vampire had seen in his eyes was like an anchor for him, the first light after going through hell. His sire – an inhuman creature – had spoken of his death and the torture of his change with more compassion than he'd ever witnessed in anyone. _Had __it __been __possible, __I __would __have __taken __that __pain __upon __myself, __instead __of __subjecting __you __to __it_, Carlisle had told him.

The memory of what he'd just suffered had been too fresh for Edward to imagine that he would have ever volunteered to go through it in place of someone else, let alone a person he knew nothing about. _Carlisle, __on __the __other __hand..._Edward's trust in him hadn't faltered since that day. He'd accepted the help the older vampire had offered him and had left with him. Carlisle had feigned the death of his intended prey and sent the Volturi a letter, explaining that killing a man had shocked him so much that he'd renewed his vow to abstain from human blood and wouldn't return to a place where he would be tempted again.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Swan recalled the moment he'd seen Edward under the fallen beam, and the vampire relived what he'd felt after Carlisle had died to save him.

It had taken Edward three days of indescribable pain to complete his transformation into a vampire, but after that he had no longer experienced physical exhaustion or discomfort. But as he'd lain helpless on the floor of the burning cabin, surrounded by the flames, with his flesh torn apart by the vampire who had fought against him and his adoptive father, he thought that the pain he'd escaped since his metamorphosis had concentrated and crashed down on him all at once.

Swan spoke with one of the security guards, checking the flamethrowers and the alarm systems.

_Fire_.

Edward cringed, his hands clenched into fists, as the memory of his most recent agony haunted him again.

_Being __burned __while __your __heightened __senses __can __still __feel __every thing __that's __happening __to __you._

He had been sure he would be destroyed along with the cabin, turning to ashes like Carlisle and their attackers, but humans had approached and the flames were extinguished. He'd stayed hidden.

Carlisle had taught him how to feed only on animal blood, and for centuries Edward and his sire had lived among the humans, perfecting their control over the bloodlust. But in that moment of desperation, Edward's control had wavered, and he'd considered striking out at his human saviors, whose blood would have supplied the nourishment he needed to speed his recovery.

He grimaced, recalling that he had refrained from attacking them not out of choice, but because he'd lacked the strength to do so. He was in such bad shape that he hadn't even been able to crawl toward them. _Weak __prey_. That was what the world's top predator had become.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Swan's steps resonated on the floor of the prison's main corridor. On his way to the cell, he mentally checked if the vampire had been fed today. Just the thought of a bag of blood set Edward on alert, and he felt the telltale burning tickling at the back of his throat. He hated himself even more for that. Blood was the only thing that could heal him, and at the same time it was the way his human jailers kept him weak.

When Charlie had injected the contents of that vial of his into Edward's neck wound, Edward was in so much pain that he'd expected his death was finally arriving, though so many decades after the original expiration date of his human life.

Since then, it seemed that his body had been altered for good. Under normal circumstances, vampires healed very quickly, but that time had been different. Even though his head had been almost severed from his body, he should have fully recovered by now. Instead, he still had a long cut on the neck.

Charlie knew that vitamin D could influence vampire venom. Who would have guessed that a human could make such a discovery? Edward had seen in Charlie's mind how he'd researched the properties of the venom, and witnessed his cautious satisfaction as his subject's sluggish recovery confirmed his theories. Once again, Charlie's train of thought had reminded Edward of Carlisle. His mentor had tried to learn as much as possible about their nature, but he had focused most of his efforts on human medicine. If they'd known the truth, humans would have considered Carlisle an inhuman monster, but he was the one who had tried to help them with his work as a doctor, while they were looking for ways to harm his kind.

Charlie was now opening the door of the observation room. _The __core __of __the __labyrinth_, as Edward called it. It seemed an appropriate metaphor, given his current predicament. When he'd awoken there, he'd wondered if death had actually come, and if he had been damned to hell. Wasn't that hell for a vampire? Being the prisoner of creatures who were meant to be his food, being studied as if he were a bug, confined in a cell? His guards called themselves humans, but some thoughts he'd heard in their minds made him question how much actual humanity they possessed. _If __this __is __a __labyrinth, __I'm __the __Minotaur_, he thought. _But __I'm __not __the __only __monster __here_.

The vampire lifted his gaze toward the glass wall that separated him from the slugs who kept him prisoner; he focused on Charles Swan. Edward had to admit that Swan had been smart in designing the prison. The observation room was a gallery above the cell and offered the guards a full view of their subject through bulletproof windows. Had he attempted to break out or attack his captors, they could set fire to the basement and escape. Then the whole building would explode, burying Edward's ashes under the debris.

His fingers traced the cut on his neck. As long as he was wounded and the venom was exposed, fire was even more dangerous. He had a simple choice: either he could continue to drink the human blood they gave him, which he knew they were poisoning with vitamin D in order to keep him weak, or he could refuse and slowly starve. _As __if __I __ever __had __a __choice_. Edward recalled with disgust how he'd humiliated himself, agreeing to do their tests just to get that little nourishment they offered him.

He kept his face a blank mask, but his interest was piqued by Swan's unusual behavior. If there was one thing he'd observed about Charlie during the time of his imprisonment, it was his insane dedication to his investigation. In the fifty-eight days of interactions with his prisoner, Charlie had thought of little else besides new tests to run on his guinea pig. Now he was fidgeting. He didn't talk, but recalled the hours he'd spent interrogating. A long time, indeed – Edward was beginning to wonder if Swan wasn't a supernatural creature himself, because he seemed able to remain focused on his task for a much longer period of time than any human being Edward had met.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When his eyes met Edward's, for a long moment Charlie didn't think of the creature in front of him as a supernatural being. There were moments when he considered him a lost boy – moments when he wondered if he had a family of his own, and if his parents were worried for him, just like he was for his daughter.

_What __am __I __doing? _The question resurfaced more often in his mind day by day. He recalled how he'd whittled away at Edward's mind as if it were a wall separating him from the life he'd lost six years before. He would have done anything to destroy that wall, brick by brick, and make the monster spill the truth.

Charles Swan relied on a few solid principles in his line of work. The first was that the subject's weakness were the agent's strengths. With the vampire prisoner, finding the key had never been an issue. On the contrary, his bloodlust had further confirmed what Edward was.

And yet...after the last two months, Charlie doubted that the creature in front of him was just a predator.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_"He'd do anything for blood, but we can only test him if we know what we're looking for," Walsh said._

_Charlie let out a sigh. "Still with all the tests, Walsh?" Once he'd been forced to admit that Edward wasn't the killer he was looking for, Swan had taken a weekend off, always monitoring what was going on at the prison, but leaving Walsh in charge. He needed to regroup and decide what would happen to Edward, but Walsh had insisted on doing some tests, and that had become their new habit._

_"We've already seen how strong and fast he is," he reminded his boss. "And we don't even know if he's restraining himself. The way he destroyed that strongbox..." He let out a whistle, still incredulous at Edward's skills. _

_Blood had become the carrot and the stick for their subject. A bag of blood locked in a professional strongbox had been the most recent test, and Edward had crumbled the steel so easily that it might as well have been made of eggshell._

_"What do you have in mind this time?" Swan asked._

_"I'd like to see what he knows. Foreign languages, advanced mathematics...take your pick. Let's say we give him a book to translate. When he completes the task, he gets his drink."_

_Charlie pondered the idea. According to the documents in the 98331 folder, those super-soldiers had worked in different European countries, always unnoticed. Walsh could have a point. "Okay. Give him a copy of _War and Peace_, a pen, and a stack of paper. Let's see if he appreciates Russian literature."_

_Less than twenty-four hours later, Edward returned the sheets, filled on both sides with his neat, elegant writing. _

_"_Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don't tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors..._" Charlie read aloud. _

_"It matches!" Walsh exulted, checking Edward's translation against an English edition of the novel._

_Charlie was the only one still in the observation room when Edward received his reward. The vampire turned his back to him and quickly swallowed his fill. When he was finished, he looked up at him._

_"More?" Edward asked._

_Charlie was taken aback by the request. So far, it had seemed that the vampire had resigned himself to the fact that they would ration every drop of blood they gave him, always demanding something in exchange. "More blood?"_

_Edward shook his head. His gaze was shy, and he murmured his next words. "May I have more books to read?"_

_Charlie didn't answer immediately, but on the following day he slipped two classics into Edward's cell. There wasn't anything else beside the two books – no stack of paper or pen. No strings attached. Edward smiled when he saw that the novels were in English._

x-x-x-x-x

The second truth in Charles Swan's book was that evidence didn't lie, and he hadn't found anything that could place Edward at the scene of any of the homicides. The more his study of Edward validated his theory that a supernatural creature had played a role in the Drainer's crimes, the more he was forced to acknowledge that Edward and the Drainer couldn't be the same person.

They both had venom, but the samples' chemical structure didn't match.

Their finger marks didn't share any similarity.

In the end, Swan had surrendered. Edward had silently witnessed his bitter disappointment as he'd realized that he couldn't give closure to his daughter, nor to his dead wife, let alone to himself.

"Edward," Charlie finally called. Something was up if he was calling the prisoner by his first name. He switched on the intercom between the cell and the observation room, as if he was expecting the prisoner to answer.

"_Charlie_," Edward mocked, knowing how much he hated him using his nickname.

"I have an offer for you."

"A deal with the devil, Charlie? I'm afraid I don't have a soul to offer in exchange."

"There's someone who'd like to meet you," Swan went on, unfazed. "For personal reasons. She's..." he interrupted himself, but his mind unwittingly gave Edward the rest of his story. Flickers of a young woman passed through his thoughts; it seemed she had spent weeks in an almost catatonic state, and Charlie was so desperate that he was considering any option to elicit a spark of interest in her. He would try anything, provided that she went back to her previous self. "I told her about you," he explained, speaking before his mind could disclose the reason for the woman's sorrow. "She knows what you are, but not much more."

"A vampire," Edward said aloud, enjoying that Swan still found it uncomfortable to hear the word out loud.

"She's my daughter."

Edward frowned. What could Charlie's worries for his daughter have to do with him?

"She'd come for a talk. This has nothing to do with the tests, but everything would still be recorded while she's here. If you behave, you'll be rewarded."

"How?" Edward licked his lips. "Will you let me have dessert?"

"Enough!" Charlie snapped. _I__ should have guessed __it __wouldn't __work. __Damn__it. __Maybe __it__'__s __just __as __well... no __telling __what __could __happen. __But __it__'__s __not __like __I __have __any __other __ideas __on __how __to __reach __her. __Is __there __anything __that __can __make __her __happy __again?_ He began to reach for the button to end the communication.

Edward stood and raised a hand. "Wait. If I succeed, you know what I want."

He narrowed his eyes at him. "And that is?"

"My freedom?" It came out as a question. Truth be told, Edward no longer knew which was the best choice. If the Volturi discovered that he had killed their guards, they would hunt him down and destroy him. Or worse, they would make him their prisoner; he had no doubt that their brand of 'hospitality' would soon have him pining for Charlie's bunker.

"That's not up for discussion." Swan waved him off, but his thoughts told another story. He was well aware that the tests couldn't last forever, and the prisoner's behavior wasn't helping. Even if the subject had promised that he could refrain from attacking humans, freeing him was out of question. Sooner or later, he would have to either deliver the subject to the government or destroy him.

"As you wish." Edward shrugged. "After all, she's your daughter, not mine." As he had expected, Charlie's heartbeat quickened at his words. "But what if she asks for my freedom?"

Swan laughed bitterly. "She knows the rules. That won't happen."

"So why don't you try? It's a win-win for you. I don't want anything in exchange – unless, of course, she asks you to set me free."

Swan let out an exasperated sigh. "I thought you'd be smart enough to bargain for a better deal," he muttered. "Fewer tests, more food...I would have given you that. But if you want to lose your chance by chasing after your absurd fantasy, it's your call."

Edward nodded appreciatively. "I'm ready to start."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Notes**

Which book would you like Edward to translate for you?

The next chapter is due to be posted next Monday.

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s fabulous prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**. **  
**

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

_Snare_'s extras are posted on: h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/


	3. Freak

**Raum**

**_Snare_**

**[2-11-2013]** Thank you again for your support! Are you ready for some Edward&Bella time?

I don't own _Twilight_ or Edward's cell.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Freak**

* * *

"Remember, he's often unresponsive." Charlie's voice reached Edward as he lay on his back with his eyes closed, humming Mozart's Symphony 41. "You never know how he's going to react. If anything bothers you, we can leave immediately. If I tell you to leave, please don't object. Okay?"

Edward rolled his eyes at Charlie's warnings. With the humans coming to pay him a visit, he had but a few minutes of peace left and chose to focus on his favorite melodies, rather than on the unending buzz of words and thoughts coming from the people around him.

Symphony 41 had been Mozart's last work, and it made Edward wonder how the history of music might have been different if the composer had been granted immortality as he had, giving him the opportunity to perfect his art to the utmost.

He recalled how in that symphony there were five different themes which were ultimately combined in a way that, according to a comment he'd once read, was almost impossible for the human ear to fully follow. _Being __a __vampire __does __have __its __perks._ A fragment from his human life mingled with the memory of the musical notes: he remembered his grandfather showing him how to play an easy piano sonata by Mozart. Edward had been just a young boy back then, and he'd looked in awe at his grandfather's large, expert hands dancing across the piano keys. After attending a performance by Mozart, his maternal grandfather had become an enthusiastic supporter of the prodigious musician and recommended that everyone in his family who learned to play the piano pay particular attention to Mozart's music. Edward had heard the story so many times that it became one of the few human memories he'd retained after his change.

Mozart's music was one of the pleasures he enjoyed most, but thinking about it while cooped up in a cell made him consider what the composer's life must have been like. From an early age, Mozart had been dragged all over Europe, always playing for the audience's enjoyment. He'd been acclaimed as a child prodigy, and his talent had been praised everywhere, but how had he felt? Had he considered himself blessed, or had he felt that they were treating him like a freak?

_There's __a __person __who'd __like __to __see __you...she's __my __daughter_. Edward reflected on Charlie's words. What could he have told his daughter that would make her want to meet a vampire? Edward hoped she wasn't some sort of weirdo who was attracted to abnormalities. That was all he needed.

The door of the observation room opened and two people walked in.

"Edward?" Charlie called. "Stand up."

_Your __wish __is __my __command_, Edward silently mocked, not bothering to move a muscle. Like a lazy cat, he spared just a glance at the new person in the observation gallery. Even if Charlie hadn't already said that she was his daughter, the resemblance between them would have left no doubt about their relationship. The young woman shared his dark hair and deep brown eyes, but she was paler than him and too slim; her expression was so lost that Edward wondered if she even remembered how to smile. _Come __on, __cheer __up. __You're __not __the __one __who's __in __prison_, he was tempted to joke.

"That's him," Charlie told her. "But it looks like he's having one of his uncooperative days. Shall we go?"

"Can I stay a little while?" she asked softly.

Edward frowned. Sometimes it took him a bit longer than usual to tune in to the thoughts of a new mind, but he should have caught something before the girl spoke. Instead, he hadn't been able to detect even the hint of a thought coming from her. He looked away, hiding his curiosity. _If __they __knew __that __their __vampire __pet __project __can __read __minds... __It's __better __if __I __don't __even __think __about __it_.

"Will you give me a moment alone?" she asked.

Her father raised an eyebrow at her. "If you're sure. I'll call you in a few minutes, okay?"

Edward heard the door of the observation gallery closing; Charlie's heartbeat faded into the distance, muffled by the soundproof walls of his cell.

With a quick movement, he went to sit in the far corner of his room. From there, he could get a better view of the girl. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, but was dressed like a high-school student, with a dark green hoodie and her long hair loose on her shoulders. Judging by the way the counter of the observation room covered her lower half, she couldn't be very tall. She kept her head bowed, apparently focusing on the control panel, and for the first time in centuries, Edward felt like he was in the dark. Without the girl's thoughts, he had to wait for her to speak to discover something more about her.

She cleared her throat. "Hi."

He rolled his eyes. She hadn't switched on the intercom, which meant she wouldn't be able to hear him. "The intercom!" he mouthed.

She fidgeted with a couple of buttons before pushing the right one. "Hi," she repeated.

He waved at her and wondered where her next words would rank in his personal hit parade of stupid openings in a conversation with a vampire. Walsh, who was Charlie's right-hand, was the undisputed champion so far. The sound of more fidgeting reached him, eliciting another roll of his eyes. Was the girl truly that dense? Even Walsh didn't have problems working the buttons that switched on the intercom and recorded the sessions. _I __hope __for __your __sake __the __button __to __open __my __cell __isn't __within __your __reach,__ s__weetie_.

"Done," she murmured. "Edward?"

"Here I am," he crooned.

"Now we can talk freely. I've disabled the monitoring system for the time being."

He tilted his head at her. _Way __to __go, __Little __Swan_. "Was there something private you needed to tell me?"

"I didn't think my father would allow me to meet you." Her voice was quiet and soft, different than the stern tones of Charlie and his assistants. "But since he has, it must mean he's really worried for me."

"Are you sick?" The kindness in his own voice surprised him, but he wasted no time in fixing it. "Is this visit a last wish before you die?"

"Do you honestly think I'd have you on my bucket list?" she snapped.

He shrugged. "It would flatter me."

She sighed. "No. I'm not dying any more than the rest of the people who surround you."

He counted the seconds of silence – the first silence he'd been able to experience in centuries, without the need of being alone – before she spoke again. "I wanted to see how my father is doing. The last few months have been rough, but working with you has kept him focused. All things considered, it's helped him."

Edward made a bow. "You're welcome, mademoiselle," he mocked. "We aim to please, and I'd do anything to keep Big Swan focused and to be of _help_ to him."

"Big Swan?"

"Since we have two Swans here now."

"I see. So I'd be the little one?"

"Unless mademoiselle is brave enough to tell me her name."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm Bella, and no one called me 'Little Swan' when I came here before."

"Do you visit your father's place of work often?"

She looked down. "This happened to be my place of work, too."

Edward's expression hardened. Had he been played? Had the whole story about Charlie's daughter been a lie? _Damn__it_. The girl's mental silence made it impossible to ascertain the truth. Her heartbeat, though...if she was lying, she was good at it.

"I'm a computer programmer and did some research here," she explained, as if she had understood his doubts. "Before you arrived."

He considered making a comment about her following in her dearest daddy's footsteps, but couldn't bring himself to say the words aloud. Hadn't he done the same, until two months ago? Hadn't he followed the teachings of the person he respected most, and whom he was proud to call father? He paced the room, no longer thinking about the girl. Instead, his thoughts lingered on the worst of the tests Walsh had performed. Had it not been for his father, Edward would have become the monster his captors believed him to be.

_Once you attack a human, there's no way back,_ Carlisle had taught him. _It's not a matter of willpower, because an adult vampire can control himself, if he chooses so. It's about crossing a line. The first time it happened, you'd consider it a mistake. The second time, you'd justify yourself, because you're just following your natural instincts, after all. By the the third time, you wouldn't be able to think of anything other than the pleasure of feeding._

He'd repeated those words in his mind like a litany while Walsh had put his insane idea into practice.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Charlie summoned his assistants for a meeting. Edward listened in from his cell, catching their words and scanning their thoughts. Charlie told them his conclusions after the interrogations he'd led and shared the results of the analysis on the evidence he'd collected from Edward's body and at the burnt cabin._

_"He isn't our man," he stated before his assistants could voice the same conclusion; the words of defeat were bitter in his mouth._

_"He's not even a man," Walsh countered with a poor attempt at a joke, which the others ignored._

_"He could know something about the killer, though," Lee Stephens suggested. "If he's not the only one of his kind, he might be able to help us find the Drain...the unknown subject. Maybe he can catch details that we're missing."_

_"It's a possibility," Charlie conceded. "But why would he agree to help us?"_

_Lee shrugged. "We can just bargain with him. So far it's worked."_

_Charlie let out a sigh. "So far we've been trying to determine if he's a killer. But now...we're still keeping him here, and for what?"_

_"Even if he isn't that killer, he's still a monster," Walsh cut in. He grimaced, making a show of his disgust. "He drinks blood, for Pete's sake. We're doing everyone a favor by keeping him away from the rest of the world."_

_In his cell, Edward bared his teeth._

_"Charlie, do you think he could be involved in the cases, even if he's not the killer?" Lee asked._

_"I don't think so. But he's sure making me question everything I've learned in my life as a profiler. Sometimes I've had to remind myself that I was the one interrogating him and not the other way around. There's no doubt that he's an incredible being. But is he a monster as well?"_

_Walsh made a face, but Lee put up a hand before he could speak. "What do you mean?" he asked, leaning toward Charlie._

_"He says he doesn't attack humans." Incredulity still lingered in his thoughts._

_"But he's never refused the bags of blood we're giving him, and there's human blood in them," Lee pointed out._

_Charlie tapped his pen on the table, going through his notes again. "It's not like we're offering him an alternative. He claims he hunts animals, but what do we know?"_

_"It could all be a bunch of lies," Walsh mumbled._

_"But why would he lie about something we've never questioned since the beginning?" Lee wondered. "He can't be so stupid to think that we'd free him just because he says he doesn't attack humans, right?"_

_Charlie scoffed. "That's for sure. So either he's telling the truth or he has another reason–one that I still have to find out." He drew a hand down his face. "I think we could all use some time to consider where we're going to take this from here. I'm taking two days off. I've got some issues at home that need my attention." The image of a girl flickered through his mind. "Lee, can you be in charge on Saturday, and Robert will cover Sunday? We can schedule a new meeting for sometime next week."_

_"We should test the vampire," Walsh suggested to Lee once their boss left the room. "How would he react if someone were bleeding in front of him? Would he still say he wants only animals?"_

_A shudder shook Edward at the idea. He clung to whatever thought could drag his mind away from the luscious temptation that human blood represented for him. "Never like them," he murmured to himself, recalling the monsters who had attacked him in Italy. "Better to die than become like them." When Carlisle had explained to him how powerful the call of human blood was, but had also described how he'd always managed to live off animals' blood, Edward made his sire promise that he would never allow him to kill a human out of desire for his or her blood. Carlisle had been true to his word, but now that he was gone, Edward had nothing but his willpower to hold him back._

_And soon it was going to be tested beyond any boundary._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Edward," Bella called softly, interrupting his memories.

He looked at her over his shoulder.

"I'm not here to work now. And I won't lie to you."

"Do you expect the same from me?" he challenged.

"Your call. I've already made my choice."

He heard Bella answer the phone.

"I'm coming," she told her father.

Edward took a few steps in her direction, stopping at the center of the room.

"I need to go," Bella said.

"Will you visit again?" he asked with nonchalance, pacing the cell.

"May I?"

He opened his arms and gave her a smirk. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

**NOTES**

Imagine you're with Edward. What music would you choose?

Mozart's _Symphony __41_ will be available on MyReadingLounge among the story extras:

h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s fabulous prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**. **  
**

The next chapter is due to be posted in two weeks.

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!


	4. Special Diet

**Raum**

**_Snare_**

**[2-25-2013]** I'm back! More Edward&Bella time, and I guess Walsh will be even more hated after this chapter.

I've written a one-shot for Emergency Beta Service. Would you read it? If you want to vote for it, you have to "like" and/or "share" it on Facebook. Thanks! **h.t.t.p : / / t. co/ bJYSCgDq**

I don't own _Twilight_. Surprising, isn't it? ;-)

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**

**Special Diet  
**

* * *

_Good thing my shift is almost over. Some sleep, that's what I need_, one of the bunker's private security guards thought, suppressing a yawn. He looked outside the window, watching the rain as it came down in thick curtains, giving the trees around the building a gray tint. _Damn. The forecast said it would be a cloudy day, and now look at that rain. I promised Sam I'd take her to the playground today, but..._ The image of a child filled his mind, and he guessed his little girl was still sleeping in the early morning.

"Good morning, Eric."

Edward recognized the heartbeat as well as the quiet voice, and the girl's mental silence confirmed that Bella was back at the prison.

"Morning, Isabella," Eric greeted her. "Are you looking for your father? He hasn't arrived yet."

Contrary to his usual routine, Charlie hadn't stayed at the lodge for the night, but had left with Bella after her visit with Edward. Edward surmised that she must have left very early in the morning, while her father was still asleep; if he'd been awake, he would no doubt have come in with her.

"I know, and he's not the reason I'm here. Could you open the observation gallery for me, please?"

"Of course. Are you working here again?" Eric asked her on their way toward the cell.

"No," she rushed to answer. "It's just a visit."

Through the guard's mind, Edward saw that Bella had stiffened.

Before Edward, the lodge had been used by Charlie as a place where he could carry on with his research without distractions; but of course, it had also been designed to be a potential prison, long in advance of the vampire's capture. Bella's computer skills had been instrumental in getting the place set up; she had configured the computer network and the surveillance systems, and even helped the guards with the security system. She'd wanted to work toward a career as a technical analyst, and she'd showed great promise toward that end. But her working experience at the lodge hadn't lasted long.

Edward followed Bella's steps, her heartbeats, and Eric's thoughts as she and the guard descended into the basement. The first floor underground was occupied by the observation gallery; the cell was in the lowest level. _Welcome to hell_, Edward thought as Bella approached the glass window.

"Already back?" he greeted her. "I wasn't expecting a return visit so soon."

"Were you sleeping? I didn't mean to bother you."

He snorted. "Sleeping? Weren't you paying attention when your father told you about me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Is he supposed to keep track of your sleeping habits?"

Edward gestured toward the windows that circled his cell. "As if anyone here doesn't know that I don't sleep."

"You don't sleep at all?"

"At all. And since I wasn't offered a coffin, I guess your father and his assistants figured that out soon enough–either that, or they wanted me to be particularly uncomfortable."

Bella looked at the few pieces of furniture in Edward's cell and registered that there was no bed.

When Charlie had designed the building, he had given it the exterior appearance of a large, modern villa. The architects had taken advantage of the natural sloping landscape and placed the house so it looked out over the greenery. The two levels aboveground housed Charlie's and his assistants' offices, all open and bright, with warm ivory walls, large windows, and fine hardwood floors. The basement had been divided into the observation gallery and the cell, which boasted rough dark flooring and white walls in which were concealed the openings for the flamethrowers.

Bella saw that in the large space reserved for Edward, there was nothing but a desk, a matching chair, and a long couch in a corner. Her gaze traveled toward a room divider.

"There's a bathroom over there," he informed her.

She ducked her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be intrusive."

He shook his head lightly, smiling at her words. For weeks he'd felt like an insect under a microscope. He'd lived through more than two centuries, but since he'd been taken to the bunker he hadn't had the last say on even a single moment of his time. Charlie and his assistants decided when to interrogate him or test his abilities and when he could be left in peace. Edward supposed he was lucky they got tired and needed to sleep; if not for that, they would probably keep watching and pestering him 24/7. Bella, on the other hand...she was kind, and the curiosity he could see in her expression resembled that of one person getting to know another. _Two people who might become friends_, he thought, as if he could ever know what having a human friend might be like.

"So, Miss Isabella, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

She frowned. "Isabella?"

"Isn't that your name?"

"Yes, it is. But how did you know it? I told you my name's Bella."

Edward wanted to slap himself for his faux pas. "Your father referred to you as Isabella." _Although never directly to me_.

"But you asked my name."

_Observant. Daddy's carbon copy_. "Introducing yourself is still considered a sign of good manners, is it not?"

She looked away, and when he tried to catch a glimpse of her thoughts he was met with complete silence. Why was she so upset about him knowing her name? It didn't take long for the answer to arrive.

"Does my father talk about me?" she demanded. "With you?"

Edward let out a sigh. "No. I'm not exactly his confidante, you know?"

She glared at him but didn't reply to his words, waiting for him to complete his explanation. Edward wondered how much more could he reveal. He considered that every piece of information Charlie and the others had discovered about him had been extracted with threats and blackmail. He could at least tell Bella voluntarily what the others had acquired by force.

"I have heightened senses," he explained.

"Please, go on."

"I can hear every word spoken in this building. The intercom allows you to hear me, but I would be perfectly able to hear you without it."

"I see," she said quietly. "So you just overheard my father talking about me?"

"Isabella. Or Bella, if you prefer." He softened his words with a smile. "Believe it or not, everything I know about you is basically what you told me in your previous visit. The only time your father spoke of you in my presence was when he told me that you wanted to meet me, and I can assure you I haven't heard him mention your name often to the people here – far from it, in fact. Whatever else you want to disclose is up to you. You might want to start with the reason why you're doing this vampire therapy."

She gaped at him. "Vampire therapy?"

He shrugged. "So far, all you've done here—besides arguing with me about your name—is to tell me what you're worried about. As long as I don't know what brought you back today..."

"You said I could come back," she countered.

"Of course."

"Is it okay? I mean, if sometimes I..."

"Yes. Yes it is." The certainty of his own words took him by surprise; he hadn't realized how eager he was to see her again.

"I couldn't sleep last night," she confided. "I kept thinking about Charlie's studies, and what made him follow that path." She didn't elaborate further.

Through the interrogations and the investigators' minds, Edward had seen more than Bella about her mother's death and the other homicides that were connected to the Drainer, but he was never going to say a word about it, lest he hurt her. His thoughts ran back to Carlisle and his own loss – Bella's sorrow over the parent who had been taken from her mirrored his own.

"There have been moments when I doubted Charlie," she went on. "I was afraid that the Drainer had killed both my parents – my mother out of the blue, and then my father, day by day, sucking what life he had left out of him. As long as it wasn't certain whether you could be that killer, I didn't want to know anything about you, and I would have rejected the mere idea of seeing you. But now, you're in front of me, and I know you're..."

"A monster?" he challenged.

She shook her head, but didn't disagree aloud. "Are there many others like you?" she waved a hand in front of her.

Edward shrugged. "Some."

"I still can't believe that it's real. That you are real. I told myself I had to come here again to be sure that I hadn't imagined our previous meeting."

"Did you think I would vanish in the morning?"

The hint of a smile graced her lips but quickly disappeared. "You are mythical, after all."

Edward caught a quiet rumble coming from Bella's stomach–a sign he'd often noticed in humans. She brought a hand over her belly.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "What?"

He pointed to her. "Hungry? Your stomach..."

"You could hear that?"

He gave her a nod.

She looked down in embarrassment. "I skipped breakfast."

Edward recalled that there was a renowned bakery close to the clinic where he and Carlisle worked. He pushed away the memory of the last three years, of the time they'd spent in Washington, and the results they'd achieved in their careers as doctors. One of the nurses had told him about the bakery, and in her mind Edward had seen how she'd have liked to go there with him. He'd never even entertained the idea of asking the nurse, but now he imagined himself inviting Bella for breakfast, walking at her side in the crisp air of a spring morning...

"Would you like a cup of coffee? Some pastries?" he teased her.

"Thanks, but I'm on a special diet."

"Special diet?" Usually, that was his punch line, when he had to explain to humans why he didn't eat with them or limited himself to nibbling at some of the less obnoxious foods.

"I have celiac disease. It means my body can't handle gluten, so I have to avoid foods that contain wheat. You've probably never heard of it..."

_Not very likely, after two degrees in medicine_. "It doesn't sound new to me," he said vaguely. "Does this condition bother you?"

"Just sometimes, when I'm in front of something delicious I can't have."

"I see," Edward replied, and it was truer than he could have expected. He remembered how venom filled his mouth when he was close to humans; sometimes a scent made him almost moan in appreciation._ She's talking about a human experience, and yet I can understand how she feels_.

"Edward, may I ask you a personal question?"

He tried to read it in advance in her mind but failed. "Go ahead," he invited her, intrigued by this new game where he had to wait for her to speak to know where the conversation was heading.

"Is it true that you live off animals' blood? That you didn't kill humans?"

_Didn't see that coming_. He nodded, tension building in him while he waited for her to go on.

"Does everyone like...you...do the same?"

"No," he affirmed. The image of Tanya, Kate, and Irina flashed in his mind. Apart from Carlisle, the Alaskan sisters were the only vampires he'd met who didn't hunt humans. He and Carlisle had befriended them, and Tanya...he dismissed the memory of those days that were forever behind him.

Bella stepped forward and rested her hand on the window separating them. "Without this barrier, would it be possible for us to meet and talk, just like this? You wouldn't hurt me, would you?"

It was as if he'd been punched in the gut. He cringed, unable to push away the memory of what had happened in the bunker when Walsh... _Stop. You must stop_. He had to send Bella away before she could catch a hint of what was happening to him. But he couldn't.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Walsh entered the observation gallery. His mind showed that he was up to no good, but when wasn't he? Contrary to standard procedure, he didn't activate the recording system._

_"Hey there," he greeted Edward._ How are you doing, monster?

_Edward rolled his eyes and tried to distract himself in whatever way he could—books he'd read, places he'd visited...anything to escape the annoyance that was Robert Walsh._

_Walsh cleared his throat. "What I wouldn't give for something refreshing to drink right now." He sighed. "My mouth and throat are so dry, it feels like they've been set on fire. You know what I mean?"_

_Edward tried harder to focus on something else as the snake's words invaded his ears, enhanced by the mental images Walsh was unknowingly imposing on him._

_"Maybe I should offer you something to drink?" his captor asked, trying his best to tempt him._

_Slowly, Edward turned toward the observation gallery. Walsh was toying with a vial of blood. He tapped it against the window, and Edward had to swallow back venom as his throat began to itch._

_"What would this be for you?" Walsh wondered, almost giggling as he continued to play with the vial._

_Edward could hear the tiny amount of blood sloshing in the glass container, and he followed the dance of its rich red hue as if it were a laser beam._

_Walsh smirked. "A shot's worth, maybe? It would be a pity getting just a teaser when you can have more, right?"_

_If Edward hadn't already been spellbound by the opportunity to get some relief from his unending thirst, he would have scoffed. His captors were always determined to keep him thirsty and weak, and Walsh was the worst, making him perpetually ache for more._

_When Walsh put down the vial and Edward saw how his thoughts had shifted, he felt invaded by the flames spreading in his throat._

_A small metal object gleamed in the bastard's hand. He lifted it, waving it behind the glass window and making it reflect the artificial lights. A razor blade. Just a thin fragment of steel, and yet it was a powerful weapon in those hands._

_"Don't," Edward growled, not caring if his warning might reveal that he'd read his persecutor's mind._

_Walsh savored Edward's discomfort, and a wicked smile appeared on his face. "Are you upset? You always seem so collected when you suck from your antiseptic plastic bag. When you said you don't attack humans, Charlie was ready to believe you, you little liar," he mocked. "But we know better, don't we? Maybe it just takes you a little inspiration to unleash your instincts."_

_He lowered the blade to his hand, laying it against the hollow between his thumb and index finger._

_"Don't," Edward repeated, his voice coming out like a desperate plea. He wanted to be able to avert his eyes, but the beast inside him would not allow it. Invisible forces kept him in place, making it impossible for him to turn away. He stood frozen like a statue, his gaze fixed on the point where steel met skin on the human's hand. But if Edward's body resembled a sculpture, no one could have said the same about his face, for his features were those of a tortured animal, and every moment of his struggle marred his expression with pain._

_"Come on," Walsh insisted, relentless. "A grown man, and you're afraid of a little cut?" He slowly drew the blade across his skin, and fresh blood began to seep._

_"Go away!" Edward shouted._

_Walsh's smile widened. He lifted his arm so it was close to the window, letting the trickle of blood flow down his palm until it reached his wrist. "Tell me, what would you do if this barrier wasn't here?"_

_Edward felt his knees buckling. A growl shook him, his human mask fading to reveal the bloodthirsty monster who was now in charge. "Leave!" he snarled._

_"So this is the extent of your famous control," Walsh taunted. "Do you still expect us to trust anything you say?" He lowered his arm and retrieved a handkerchief._

_The ragged skin around Edward's neck wound throbbed, reminding him of his current weakness. If he hadn't been so incapacitated by the gash and accompanying loss of venom, as well as the vitamin D Charlie was still giving him, he could have easily leaped up and crashed through the reinforced aluminum oxynitride glass between himself and Walsh._ And then? I will have played into his hands.

_He grabbed the first thing he could reach – a chair beside his desk – and threw it against the glass. The chair broke, and the alarm sounded immediately._

_Like the coward he was, Walsh jumped toward the door, where it didn't take long for a guard to arrive._

_"What happened?" the security guard asked, already wondering if he would have to use the flamethrowers. He was oblivious to what Walsh had been up to; though all the guards had access to video surveillance monitors that covered the entire building, that guard hadn't been paying attention to the confrontation._

_"Nothing," Walsh snapped. "Our friend here is being difficult today."_

_Edward retreated to the farthest corner of his cell._ Never like them, _he mentally repeated to himself. He reminded himself that he had to rise above, not because of Walsh, not even because of what Carlisle had taught him. He had to overcome the monster, to keep the promise he'd made to himself when he'd come to terms with his new nature: that he refused to become a beast, ruled by his instincts. He could still retain his humanity – that was what he'd learned in the centuries he'd roamed the Earth. He could, and he would._

_Making sure that the guard didn't see, Walsh wiped the blood off his hand and carefully folded the handkerchief. Then he put it in a small black plastic bag. "Take this to the subject," he instructed quietly._

It isn't over. _Edward stopped breathing and tried to shut out every sound, thought, memory. But he couldn't deny the shameful truth that a worm like Walsh had witnessed how easily a few drops of blood could drive him over the edge. As long as they could use his nourishment to their advantage, he was at the mercy of creatures much weaker than him._

_He remained frozen – immovable like only his kind could be – when he heard the guard opening the serving hatch in the cell's door._

_He surged._

_The scent of undiluted blood, deliciously fresh and not treated with preservatives and other substances, sucked him in like a vortex. He bolted toward the door and managed to block the opening mechanism of the serving hatch. The guard couldn't pull his arm back in time. Edward felt the human's wrist bones cracking in his grip._

_He bared his teeth and when he opened his mouth, venom dripped from his lips. He could taste the blood's scent on his tongue – the luscious promise of a more refreshing balm for his needs._

_Edward lowered his head, but the flesh he pierced wasn't the guard's. He sank his teeth into his own arm and curled into a ball on the floor, channeling the rage that was driving him mad against himself. The human wouldn't have stood a chance in a fight against a vampire, and Edward knew it would have meant his ultimate defeat, too, for he would have been unable to bear the guilt._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Edward stood in the middle of the room, head bowed, hands clenched into fists, waiting for the tension to leave his body.

"Edward? What's wrong?" Bella's voice grew frantic.

Though no more than a few seconds passed, it seemed ages to him before he could overcome the trembling in his body and meet her eyes. There she was–the only person whom he'd enjoyed meeting in the last two months. He didn't want her to see him like that, once again tortured by the ravenous inner beast that kept him enslaved.

He roamed Bella's face with his gaze, taking in her furrowed brow, wide-open eyes, and slightly parted lips. Her hand was still on the glass, and he wished he could reach for it, to reassure her–to hold that hand and graze it with his lips, like he would have done in his time.

She stepped back and reached for the control panel. "I guess it's better if I go," she murmured.

"Bella," he rushed to call out. "Would you come back?"

"I don't know if that's the wisest thing to do."

"Please?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**NOTES**:

One of my children has celiac disease, but I've never seen it mentioned in a fic. If you want to talk about gluten-free food and recipes, here I am :-)

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s fabulous prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**. Thanks also to **Emergency Beta Service**.**  
**

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!

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	5. Trust

Raum

_Snare_

**[3-11-2013]** I'm back! Thanks for all your kind messages during the flu.

Some news: _Snare_ has been recommended on RobAttack (link: **h.t.t.p : / / b it .ly /15Go4Kg**). Thanks to Cared for the amazing review!

Do you remember _The Second Line_, the one-shot I wrote for Emergency Beta Service? It won 1st prize (Judges Choice)! I'm thrilled. On Emergency Beta website you can find the other entries, the banners, and the comments. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Trust**

* * *

When Bella left the observation gallery, she found Charlie waiting for her in the hall.

"Hey," he greeted her. "I noticed you'd left and thought you'd gone for a run, but it was pouring rain."

"I left you a note on the fridge."

"Found it. You could have waited for me, but maybe it's better that you came here with your car. I'm going to stay for a few days, if it's all right with you."

"Of course it is," she confirmed. "You don't have to change your plans because of me. I'm doing fine – no need to be worried, okay?" Bella wished she could give her father some peace of mind by promising him that she would actually get better, but she was afraid to make that promise. She was even afraid to wish for it herself, having seen her hopes crushed before.

He smiled at her. "Is there anything I should care about more than my own daughter?"

_Caring is different than worrying_, she almost countered, but remained silent. Charlie was doing his best to be at home more often just so she wouldn't feel so alone, and he knew how to help her without being suffocating. Bella had to admit that what bothered her wasn't his attitude, but that she needed his help.

"Do you have a minute?" he asked. When she nodded, he gestured toward his study.

Edward didn't refrain from following the rest of the conversation. Through Charlie's mind, he saw them taking a seat. His spacious desk was so full of papers and folders that he almost couldn't see Bella behind that barrier.

Charlie made room on the desk, mumbling an apology for his usual chaos. "So, what brought you back here?"

Bella quirked an eyebrow at him. "As if you didn't know. I wanted to see Edward."

"Please go on."

"Just a visit," she explained. "And I'd like to ask you if I can come here again."

Her father considered her words for a long moment. "You know what my research is about. You've worked here before, and I understood your reasons when you left your job. Are you having second thoughts?"

"Not at all. I have no plans to go back to working in that field."

"But you came to meet with the subject." As usual, he avoided calling Edward by name.

She nodded. "You've devoted the last few years of your life to following unlikely leads, trusting your gut even when no one believed you. Now it turns out that you were right, and I'd like to know more about it. I'm sure you understand."

"I do, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with it." Charlie let out a sigh. "You've already heard the story: my father wanted me to work in his firm, taking over his job and continuing our family's tradition. He couldn't accept that his only son wanted to spend his life dealing with the scum of the Earth. We fought about it all the time, and it hurt us both."

Bella followed his words with a nod. "That's the reason why you never took my own choices from me, and I'm grateful for that."

"I didn't choose this job for the thrill of hunting criminals, and neither did the best colleagues I've worked with over the years. We did it for the people we could protect by putting the guilty behind bars." His mind skimmed through the many acknowledgments and copious amount of praise he'd received for his work; for him, nothing compared to the relief he felt when he stopped a criminal and prevented other people from ending up on the coroner's table as victims of a serial killer. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have offered to let you work with me after graduation in the first place. But after what you've been through in the last few months..."

Bella looked away, as if she didn't want to hear any reminder of the events her father was referring to.

Frowning, Edward scanned the images in Charlie's mind, trying to unearth more about what was troubling her. Unfortunately, nothing of what he saw stood out as a likely possibility.

"Don't you trust my judgment anymore?" she asked.

"I trust you, and I know you're careful. But I'd like to remind you how tough certain experiences can be. It's like looking into an abyss, and this subject is no exception."

"You said that Edward isn't a killer."

"No. I said he isn't _that_ killer," he corrected, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking down. "He's not the one I'm tracking, but it doesn't mean I've figured out all the rest. And anyway, before long it won't be my job to worry about it anymore."

"What do you mean?"

He fidgeted with one of the papers on his desk for a moment before he answered. "I'm considering involving the government—handing him over to them."

Bella stood up from her chair and began to pace the room. "What would they do to him? Couldn't you release him? If he hasn't done anything wrong, why can't he just go on with his life?"

"Isabella," Charlie interrupted her. "You're talking about the subject as if he's human. If he were, he wouldn't be in that cell. I'm not a kidnapper."

"Of course not," she conceded.

"Think about him like a nuclear weapon. So far we've been able to keep him under control, and my former colleagues still don't have a clue that he exists. But we don't know how long we can keep this up—how long we can keep him a secret, or how dangerous he might become. If I released him, and he turned out to be a killer, I'd be the one to blame."

"_If_ he shows he's dangerous," she pointed out. "But based on what you've discovered so far, do you think he will?"

"That's a good question – one I'm not taking lightly. So far, we know his genetic structure is different from that of humans, and almost every day we discover some new skill he has, not to mention the way he takes his nourishment. He has nothing that makes him a human being, and yet sometimes he seems more human than many people I've met." He let out a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. "I wouldn't wish the confusion I've felt since I found him on anyone."

"You taught me that questions are often more important than answers."

"But would you take the risk of facing all the questions that every visit to the observation gallery would bring forth? Do you need this kind of stress, after all you've been through lately?"

"You know I've already made up my mind."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Bella didn't go to the lodge the following day. Alone in her house, she spent Saturday morning snuggled up in what had been Renée's favorite armchair, gazing out of the window. The neighbors' kids were playing in the backyard, and their excited shrieks stirred up memories of her own childhood, when Charlie had always spent what little time he had away from his job with her and Renée.

Their house was the same, although the plants her mother had chosen for the garden were now taller, and her beloved flowers had bloomed and blighted again with the seasons; Bella felt keenly how neither she nor Charlie belonged there anymore. The family who had once lived there had become nothing but a gray shadow of itself, in sharp contrast with the bright colors of the garden or the warm hues of the house's fine furniture.

She flipped through an album of pictures. The images of that summer – the perfect summer before the darkness had swallowed any joy – were heavy in her hands. She looked at the girl who was smiling up at her, forever happy in that keepsake. That younger version of Bella Swan was lost, and for a moment she saw herself as a ghost envying the living.

_Not a ghost_, she told herself. _Unless even ghosts can be haunted by other dead people._

She thought about Edward, and recalled the moment he'd cringed, curling in on himself at just the idea of removing the barrier between them. She'd been relieved when Charlie hadn't noticed how upset she'd been afterward, and she had tried not to think about what she'd just witnessed, but now it was time to reflect on that unsettling moment. If Edward wasn't going to hurt her, why had he reacted that way? On the other hand, if he wanted to attack her, why had he seemed so tortured at the mere idea of putting her in danger? Either way, he'd made it clear that he didn't mean any harm. Wasn't that proof of his good disposition? And yet, he could be a liar. A master of deception.

Bella set aside a picture of Rome and put it in the notebook she usually carried with her. It featured a sunset on the dome of St. Peter's Basilica – the Cupolone, as Italians called it – and it made her recall the feast of colors and voices in the crowded street where the photo had been taken.

The next photo in the album was from one of the last days of her trip to Italy. "Bellissima," Garrett had called her, showing off the little Italian he'd learned. When she'd turned toward him, he'd snapped the picture. She wore a surprised smile, her eyes bright and amused. _When did it begin?_ she wondered. _Was he already lying to me back then?_

She shut the photo album and forced herself to leave her refuge. After a long shower and a change of clothes, she ventured out. The neighbor's children had gone back inside their house, and the street was quiet again. Just like every Saturday, it was time for her to face the ghosts.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was Monday morning when Bella returned to the lodge. She silently asked if it was relief that she saw on Edward's face when she entered the observation room. She stayed still behind the thick glass, and as the minutes went by, Edward's smile faded. Her fingers reached for the intercom, but she hesitated.

A frown formed between his eyebrows when she didn't speak. "Anything wrong?" he asked, but she couldn't hear the words.

_So far, all you've done here...is to tell me what you're worried about_. She mulled over his words from their last meeting. What had he called her supposed reason for visiting him? _Vampire therapy._ Maybe it took a creature from a different world for her to open up.

"Why did you want me to come here again?" she finally asked as she switched on the intercom.

He stopped pacing the room. "It's not like I could come to visit you."

For a moment, she entertained the idea of him – or rather, a human version of him – knocking on her door and asking her out. She looked away in embarrassment; inhuman or not, he was stunning – tall and lean, with a broad chest enhanced by the white t-shirt he was wearing. "Would you?"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and tilted his head at her. "Is that an invitation, Miss Isabella?"

She didn't play along. "After what happened last week, I'm afraid of saying something that might upset you."

He averted his eyes, looking down. "I owe you an apology for that. Thank you for coming back, even after what happened. It wasn't your fault, believe me, but maybe it'd be better if you're the one talking."

"To continue my vampire therapy?" she challenged.

A corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "I doubt I'd make a good therapist." _Liar_. He recalled the years he'd spent studying psychology and then psychiatry, and the excellent results he'd achieved when he'd practiced it – it had been the ideal profession for a mind-reader, but now... "Especially for you."

She frowned. "Why? Am I too broken to be fixed?"

"No," he rushed to reassure her. "It's just that you're difficult to read."

"Compared to whom? What people have you read, Edward?"

_Everyone but you_. "I've been around long enough to meet my fair share of people."

"How long?"

Her question came as a soft whisper, but it made him feel naked before her. _How do you see me?_ he wondered. He was forever frozen at twenty-three, and the centuries he'd spent in the world had taught him how to pose as everything from a college freshman to a young doctor. He could become whatever he wanted, and people's thoughts always let him know if his masquerade was working. But she wasn't one of the humans he'd lived among, acting as though he still belonged to their kind. She was the first who, even knowing what he was, hadn't fought against him. She'd even promised she wouldn't lie to him, and still, he knew he couldn't disclose the full truth.

"Have you read stories about my kind?" he asked.

"I'm no expert, but yes, I've read some."

"They say we don't age and have a long life, right?"

She snorted. "They say other things as well – that you sleep in coffins and transform into bats."

He scoffed. "Those are just lies."

"So what's the truth?" she challenged.

"Isabella, you ask a creature who's not even supposed to exist for the truth?"

She shook her head. "I'm asking _you_, Edward."

"I wish I could tell you."

"Why can't you?"

He grimaced and motioned to the cell around him. "Have you forgotten where we are? This conversation isn't exactly private."

"I've switched the recording system off," she assured him.

_As if that would be enough to thwart Charlie and his men_. Should his jailers realize that Edward was opening up to Bella, they would be sure to take advantage of the situation. Even if she continued to keep the recording system switched off during her visits, he wouldn't put it past the others to plant a hidden microphone or camera in the observation gallery to spy on them. He had to admit, the chance to talk with her and become friends was appealing, but he wasn't sure it was worth the risk. "Trust me. The less you know, the better."

"I would never use anything against you."

The force of her promise was like a hug for him. _I'm afraid of saying something that might upset you,_ she'd said. Was it because she feared him harming her, or could it mean she didn't want him to suffer? _Can it mean she cares for me?_ He dismissed the thought.

Bella had a contemplative look on her face. "You admitted you have heightened senses, didn't you?"

He shrugged. "You know the answer."

"Does it include sight?" she mouthed.

He read the question on her lips but didn't answer.

She let out a huff. "Please," she murmured.

He smirked in reply.

"Do they have a way of showing you pictures?" she asked vaguely.

The sudden change in subject put him on guard. _What does she have in mind? As if I could know_. "Swan – the big one – uses a slide projector. It's over there, on the left side of the counter." He carefully avoided mentioning that the slides he'd been shown previously had all been of evidence from the Drainer's homicides.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

It was only after a long silence that he nodded.

Her face lit up. "I'll come back tomorrow."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Would you trust this Vampward?

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s great prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.**  
**

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!

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	6. Riddles

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[3-25-2013]** _Snare_ has been reviewed by Credoroza on Fandom Fanatic (link: **h.t.t.p : / / b it .ly /YpSpgR**). Thanks for the lovely review!

Happy Easter to all those who celebrate! I wish Jews _Happy Passover._

* * *

Chapter 6

**Riddles**

* * *

True to her word, Bella came back less than twenty-four hours later, with a laptop tucked under her arm.

"Are you into art?" she asked Edward in a rush, without so much as a hello. She didn't bother with switching on the intercom and immediately began to fidget with her computer, connecting it to the slide projector.

Edward followed her movements, noticing how they were more hurried than usual, as if she had something urgent to do. For the first time since they'd met, he caught a spark of enthusiasm in her gaze. Her brows furrowed when she found a cable she wasn't sure how to use, and although he could have helped her, he hesitated, too amused by the cute expression on her face as she concentrated on solving her problem.

He did a quick check on the guard who was currently on duty. He wasn't sparing a single thought for him or his visitor, so Edward moved on to Charlie's mind.

_I __want __Lee __to __take __a __look __at __this __when __he __arrives_, he thought, diligently editing his latest article on criminology. _He __should __be __here __any __minute __now_.

Having apparently sorted out her cable problems, Bella started up her computer. _Good __thing __Walsh __isn't __on __duty __today_, Edward noted. He was less worried about Lee Stephens, who wasn't the type to spy on his conversations with Bella. Of course, he would do it if his boss asked him to, but Edward knew Charlie had no such intention. NosyWalsh, on the other hand...

"So, Edward, are you ready for some sightseeing?"

"Surprise me." Thanks to Bella's mental silence, it was possible for him to see something unexpected for once. "What about you? Are you into art?"

"Very much so. In fact, it was part of my job."

"Your job here? Didn't you say you worked as a computer programmer?"

"I did," she confirmed. "But then my friend Rachel and I started our own business. We provided computer support for artistic projects and worked for institutions that promote cultural heritage." She lowered her gaze and toyed with some keys on her laptop. "We combined our common passion for art and my skills with computers."

He wondered why was she talking about her job in the past tense. "Was the business unsuccessful?"

Bella shook her head, and the enthusiasm he'd glimpsed a moment earlier quickly dissolved. "I quit."

_Had __I __known __that __talking __about __her __job __would __sadden __her..._ He tried to lighten the mood with a change of subject. "What were you going to show me?"

"I hope this wasn't a bad idea," she mumbled, so low that the soft hum of the computer was almost louder than her voice. She started the slide projector, and an image Edward knew all too well appeared on one of the white walls of his cell. His mind was no longer in Washington; he was back in Italy, where he'd spent the last days of his human life.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_I've __had __many __dreams __about __this __city, __and __tomorrow __they'll __finally __begin __to __come __true__,_ Edward wrote in his travel journal upon his arrival in Florence. He'd traveled all day, but when he retreated to his hotel room he couldn't sleep, excited at the prospect of exploring the city in the morning. At long last, he would be able to visit in person the monuments he'd thus far only been able to admire on the pages of illustrated books.

Over the next few days, he filled page after page, describing how he'd wandered in silent reverie among Renaissance treasures and elegant _palazzi_. The crowds, the chance to speak some of the Italian he'd learned, the picturesque streets, and the breathtaking views along the Arno river...everything had come together to make his stay unforgettable.

He considered staying in Florence longer than planned, but the next stop of his tour–Rome, the Eternal city–was no less appealing. He was still in Tuscany when he met a man from a country town who was staying at the same hotel; Rodolfo claimed to be an art dealer and insisted that Volterra was well worth a visit for an Englishman doing his _Grand __Tour_ in Italy. Rodolfo had even invited Edward to travel in his carriage; he would join a young French gentleman and his elder cousin, who were in Italy for business and had accepted Rodolfo's suggestion to go to Volterra, where there was a flourishing trade in alabaster. They all left together, and Rodolfo became their guide through the Tuscan countryside. He was fluent in both English and French, and over the two days of their journey, he fascinated them with anecdotes about the little towns they could spot from the carriage. The Frenchmen remarked that the journey would have been perfect, had it not been for the cloudy weather; Edward, too, wondered what the countryside would have looked like on a sunny day, with the deep green of the hills interspersed with sunflowers. When they arrived in Volterra, Rodolfo entrusted the Frenchmen to Guido–whom he introduced as an alabaster dealer–while he stayed with Edward.

Edward would never reach Rome.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Edward took a long breath and resurfaced from the distant memory. He focused on Bella's heartbeat, which was faster since she'd shown him the picture. It was a high-quality photo of Giotto's bell tower, as seen from the top of the Duomo in Florence.

He remembered how he'd once admired the architectural masterpiece from the street, amazed by its height and elaborate structure. The perspective Bella was offering him could easily have been enjoyed by a vampire who had scaled the Duomo, if only such a thing had been possible without being noticed by the crowds. Admiring the landscape from such a lofty height – while he'd endured the last two months looking up at his jailers from his cell in the lowest level of the prison – made him miss his freedom even more. Memories of the quiet moments he'd spent in the top of a tree, letting his thoughts wander among the rich forests of the Olympic Peninsula, flickered through his mind.

He turned toward Bella. "Thank you for this. Florence is always a pleasant view."

"You're very welcome." She tilted her head at him. "You recognized it so quickly. Have you ever been there?"

Edward crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I suppose if I reply, anything I'll say can and will be used against me?"

Bella frowned.

He smirked at her. "Come on, I'm just joking. If I reply to your question, do I get to ask you something in return?"

"Try it and see," she challenged.

"Yes, I've been to Florence."

She wanted to ask when, but held her curiosity in check. "And your question for me?"

He grinned at her. "I don't want to waste my chance. Let me think about it, Miss Swan."

She felt her cheeks grow warm; his playful side affected her more than she cared to admit. In need of a distraction, she motioned toward the picture. "Please, take your time to look at every detail. There's no rush."

_What __does __she __have __in __mind?_ Edward turned back to the photograph, letting his gaze wander over the blue sky and distant hills before settling on the numerous buildings around the Campanile Tower. They formed a mosaic of multicolored façades, all similarly adorned with earthenware tiles. Then he focused on the tower itself.

At first he gaped. Then a full smile lit up his face. _Clever, __clever __girl._

On one of the building's many diamond-shaped lozenges, there was a note, written so as to be invisible to the human eye. He imagined that Bella had used a photo editor to zoom in on the picture and add the hidden writing there. He even recognized the font–Times New Roman, in the smallest size possible.

He read the secret message she'd put there for him.

_If __you're __reading __this, __it __means __you __truly __have __heightened __senses. __I __do __promise __I __would __never __tell __anyone __your __answers, __should __you __decide __to __reply __to __my __questions._

He looked over his shoulder at Bella, a mischievous smile on his face. Though her expression remained impassive, her eyes told him that she and he were playing the same game.

"Have you noticed the lozenges on the north side?" she asked, unfazed.

_I've __already __committed __every __detail __to __memory_. "I have indeed."

Her expression became concerned. "Edward, if anything is too much, please remember that I've never had any intention of upsetting you," she told him softly.

"You have nothing to worry about," he reassured her. He wanted to embrace her and tell her how much he appreciated her kindness. But he couldn't, and he had to resist the urge to reach out for her. "You've given me something I truly appreciate, and you had such a brilliant idea. I wish I had a way to thank you properly." He walked toward her, going as close as he could. "I'm ready to ask my question."

"Are you, now?"

"Were you the one who took the photograph?"

"No, but I did see the Campanile when I went to Italy, and I took many other pictures."

"Would you show them to me?"

Bella's eyebrows raised in surprise at his request. "I will. May I draw your attention to something else about this masterpiece?"

"Of course."

"The panels on the lower level depict the history of mankind," she explained, as if she were giving an actual lecture on the decoration of Giotto's Campanile.

He read the question awaiting him, hidden in one of the panels Bella had called his attention to: _When __and __where __were __you __born?_ "There must be such an interesting story behind these panels," he replied. "_When_ and _where_ were they designed and sculpted before they were placed on the Campanile? Finding a proper answer to these questions takes time, Miss Swan."

If Charlie had been listening in on their conversation, he would no doubt have been angry at Bella for her unauthorized visits to the observation gallery, but he would have had no inkling that they were discussing anything besides art. He might have questioned his daughter's sanity – if he wasn't already. But that didn't matter to her, as long as she could talk with Edward without exposing what he was willing to disclose to her about himself.

"What brought you to Italy?" he went on. He knew he was breaking the rules, since he was asking a question of his own instead of replying to hers, but he hoped she would remember what she'd told him on her previous visit. She'd invited him to trust her, and he was doing the same.

"The time I spent in Italy was the best of my life," she recalled. "I already liked art, but after that experience it became a deep passion."

"I can understand," he whispered, too low for her to hear him. It was the truth, and once again he found it unbelievable that they could find common ground so easily. He'd thought he'd been banished from humankind forever, but little by little Bella was proving him wrong. Though they belonged to different worlds and had been born in different centuries, they could still talk about their experiences and discuss their feelings. "I'd already been to Venice and Milan before heading toward Tuscany, and Florence was the city I loved most."

Bella shook her head a little, her eyes distant. "Can you believe we've both been under that same sky, walking on those same old streets, thousands of miles from here?"

Edward took a moment to picture Bella as a tourist–a backpack slung over her shoulder, wearing sneakers, complaining because her feet ached after a long day on the cobblestones. The image made him smile.

"Do you wish you could visit again?" he asked.

Bella stiffened, and Edward saw her eyes glistening. She shook her head, and swallowed a lump in her throat before speaking. "I'm not going there again. It would hurt too much." She bit on her lower lip, and the crease between her eyebrows deepened. "I wish I could go back in time and make that Italian summer last forever, but it's just a stupid pipe dream."

_What __happened __to __you?_ He wanted to ask. _What __does __it __have __to __do __with __the __time __you __spent __in __Italy?_ "Isabella," he called softly. She blinked, and he was sure her wish couldn't be stupid if there was something behind it that still made her cry. "I lost something precious when I was in Italy," he confessed. _My __life. __My __dreams. __The __future __I __thought __nothing __would __prevent __me __from __realizing_. "I think I can understand your wish."

He took in Bella's features–the depths of her eyes filled with a silent pain, the way her shoulders were slightly slumped and her skin was too pale, as if she carried an invisible burden. How many times had he imagined going back in time and changing his path? If he had never met Rodolfo, if he'd continued his tour, living the life he was meant to...but now, in front of Bella, he was sure that if only one of them could have been given the chance to go back in time and make different decisions, he would have given her that opportunity.

Edward remembered how Carlisle had sacrificed himself to save him. He'd always admired his adoptive father's compassion, but he'd also been certain that he would never be able to match it and give up everything to save someone he cared for–until now.

"We still have the memories of the experiences we lived in Italy, don't we?" Bella's voice came out clear again, her self-control back in place. "On some days they hurt, but on others I consider them a treasure."

"Thank you for sharing them with me."

Edward had some cherished memories of his own–the few fragments he'd kept from his human years–but following the loss of Carlisle, there had been no one with whom he could have discussed them. Bella was the only living person he knew who had been to Florence as well; all the other people he'd met there were long gone, and even the world they belonged to didn't exist anymore. No one but him could remember Florence as it had been almost two centuries ago, and he wished he could make Bella see it through his eyes, sharing with her what he would never have revealed to anyone else.

_Maybe __there's __a __way_. He went to his desk and retrieved some paper and a pen. He sketched the outline of the hills, and then the slender form of Giotto's Campanile. With a deft hand, he added crosshatching, giving the landscape an evocative contrast of light and shadow. The finished drawing even hinted at a soft rain veiling the Florentine view.

He lifted the paper, showing it to Bella.

She stared at it, leaning forward and squinting her eyes to catch as many details as she could through the windows of the observation gallery. "It's gorgeous," she murmured.

"I'll ask Charlie to bring it to you, okay?"

"But he doesn't know that I still come to visit you."

He smirked at her. "Your secret is safe with me."

"In that case, that would be great. Thank you."

"But how can you hide our visits from him?" As far as he knew, the cell was under video surveillance 24/7, and Edward had assumed it was the same for the observation gallery.

"I have my secrets, too," Bella replied, knowing better than to reveal what her task had been during her time at the lodge. Ever since she was in high school, her father had been amazed by her skills with computers. He'd supported her interest, suggesting books about the way technical analysts worked at the FBI.

_You__'__re __at __risk __of __becoming __one __of __the __most __dangerous __hackers __in __the __world_, he had joked one day. _Or __you __could __always __join __the __Bureau. __I'd __prefer __the __latter_.

The security system of Charlie's lodge had been the first project Bella had worked on entirely on her own. She could easily alter the video recording system or the entry log for the observation gallery, preventing them from monitoring her visits to Edward. As long as she kept a low profile and didn't stay long, she was confident that her tricks would pass unnoticed.

Bella looked at the photograph she'd displayed, then back at Edward's drawing. "Do you remember Florence in the rain?"

He nodded. "You brought the sun."

She bowed her head, and her hair fell around her face, hiding her expression from him. "It's time to go," she said at length. "But I'll show you more pictures soon, okay?"

"I'm counting on it. And your comments are appreciated as well."

She switched off her computer and the slide projector and got ready to leave. Edward called her back on her way out.

"Some English Romantic poets were very fond of Italy and left us their memoires about Florence and its monuments," he said, as if they were back to discussing art. "Perhaps you could bring me something about them? Keats, Shelley..." The smirk Edward gave her confirmed her suspicion that he was up for a new game.

"Of course. I'm pleased to see that you appreciate art and how it can be interpreted in multiple ways." With a meaningful look, she left the room.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Have you ever visited Italy? Other Italian places will be mentioned in the story.

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s stunning prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.**  
**

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!

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	7. Life for Her Refuses

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[4-08-2013]** Edward and Bella are back, with a flashback featuring Tanya...

* * *

Chapter 7

**Life ****for ****Her ****Refuses**

* * *

Bella didn't leave the building.

After she exited the observation gallery, Edward continued to follow her heartbeat from a distance, moving across the room to better pick up the sounds coming from the corridors she traversed. Instead of heading for the exit, she took the elevator and stopped at the highest level. Edward knew from watching Charlie's mind that he had an apartment up there, where he often stayed overnight.

On an ordinary evening, Edward would have tried to lose himself in his thoughts – sifting through memories, plans that would never come to fruition, and considerations about what actions he could take before Charlie decided to inform the government and give them proof of vampires' existence. But the knowledge that Bella was under the same roof occupied all his thoughts. Edward stretched out on his couch and closed his eyes, wishing he could do more than merely imitate Bella's sleep. He paid close attention to the changes in her breathing and heartbeat as she abandoned herself to slumber. _What are you dreaming of?_ he wondered.

In the middle of the night, she woke abruptly. He held his breath, looking toward the observation gallery. Would she consider coming down for a visit? He heard some voices and after a few seconds realized that she'd switched on the TV. It took him a few lines to recognize a scene from an old movie he'd watched more than ten years before, during his time in Alaska.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Half-hidden beneath the thick cover of snow, the secluded cottage where Tanya lived with her sisters might as well have been invisible to the outside world. If only everyone could be so fortunate. After an animated discussion, Edward and Carlisle, who had been their friends and frequent guests, had to admit that their visits were no longer safe. Technology was becoming more pervasive by the minute, its reach extending to even the most remote areas of the earth; the term 'global village' was already a common—and accurate—description for the new, interconnected world in which they found themselves. All of that was a threat to Edward, who was in many ways a fugitive in the vampire world. Carlisle had lied to the powerful Italian immortals who ruled the Volturi coven, pretending that he'd killed Edward while instead he'd changed him. Edward had to stay hidden, not only because he was intended prey who had managed to escape, but because his mindreading abilities made him too tempting a prize. The globe had been reduced to a village by electronic technology, and the spread of information was faster and faster; Edward and Carlisle knew that their visits to the Alaskan sisters could end up putting their friends in danger—as much danger as if they'd all marched into Volterra to provoke the wrath of the vampires who laid down the law for their kind._

_Tanya and her sisters had offered them support and companionship, and they shared their abstinence from human blood; Carlisle and Edward weren't about to repay the sisters' generosity by putting them at risk._

_Edward started the DVD player and put on a movie. Perhaps it was ironic that technology was putting them in danger, but he was using it to distract himself._

"Gump! What's your sole purpose in this army?"

"To do whatever you tell me, drill sergeant!"

"Goddamn it, Gump! You're a goddamn genius! This is the most outstanding answer I have ever heard. You must have a goddamn IQ of 160. You are goddamn gifted, Private Gump. Listen up, people..."

_Edward hadn't made it through many scenes of _Forrest Gump_ when the delicate caress of a hand he knew all too well traced his neck. Tanya slid onto the couch beside him, tracing his skin with light touches of her long, elegant fingers. She toyed with the buttons of his shirt, and then, with a sudden light giggle, she tore at the fabric, baring his chest._

_She put her hand on his mouth before Edward could make any objection._

_"Shhhh," she whispered. "I'll buy you a new shirt as a gift—or you could even think of it as a souvenir..." She nibbled at his earlobe. "But for now, I'd like to give you another gift—one that will help you remember our friendship when we're apart."_

_He groaned. "Tanya, you know that I–"_

_Once again she stopped him. "I do know. But I also know that we care for each other, and that pleasure can be found even in the absence of love." She climbed into his lap, looking straight into his eyes, her golden irises matching his. "Tonight I just want to give you pleasure," she murmured. "We both know that you won't be able to visit us as often as you've done so far, and we can only imagine the danger that might find us. But just for tonight, let's forget all of that. Let's forget everything outside this room."_

_"It isn't fair..." he tried to object._

_"It wouldn't be fair if one of us had other expectations," she countered. "But there's no misunderstanding between us. You're still waiting for the love of your life, while I've been around enough to give up searching."_

_They never finished watching the movie._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Edward sat on the couch, his feet planted on the seat and forearms resting on his bent knees. His head was leaning against the back of the couch, his face turned upward.

He wondered what it would be like to watch a movie with Bella. He pictured her petite form beside him, with her legs curled under her and a blanket covering her shoulders.

It had nothing to do with the time he'd spent with Tanya, nor with any of the women he'd met at college or work, who had so often entertained tedious fantasies about him.

He would have encircled Bella in his arms, lazily caressing her hair, and if she'd fallen asleep, he would have taken her to bed and tucked her in. For him that image was more intimate than his sexual encounter with Tanya or the daydreams other women had involuntarily shown him through their thoughts. _Speaking of daydreams..._He gritted his teeth, silently chastising himself. _Even if you were in full control over your bloodlust, why would Bella ever come so close to you?_

The sound of Bella shutting off the TV put an end to his pointless fantasies. Her heartbeat was still fast, and another hour passed before she fell asleep.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The strong aroma of coffee filled the kitchen on the following morning as Bella stepped in, eager to get a cup that could help her to start her day. Stifling a yawn, she reached for the coffee pot.

"Good morning," Charlie quietly greeted her. He was sitting at the tiny table, flipping through a magazine. "Were you in the mood for a night in the quiet woods where your retired old man lives like a hermit?"

"That's the official version, I suppose."

"And the real one?"

"Rachel asked me to do some work for her, just as a favor. Believe it or not, the equipment you have here is even better than what she has in her office or what I've got at home."

"I see," he muttered, not buying Bella's explanation. "I would be happy to get you a complete set of new equipment as an incentive for you to go back to work with Rachel. My treat."

Bella shrugged. "I guess I just need more time."

"To be ready again?"

She nodded.

Charlie took a sip of coffee. "A part of me wants to tell you that you're right. But I won't lie to you, Bells, no matter what." He recalled the first conference he'd agreed to deliver after the loss of Renée. He'd felt like a traitor because he was taking part in something that had belonged to his previous life with her. He'd thought he would have a breakdown in front of his audience, but in the end he'd made it. "Buy that new equipment right now, then call your colleague and tell her you'll be back tomorrow. It will hurt like hell, and you'll tell yourself that you won't make it, but that's just part of the deal. Whether you do it a year or a decade from now, the pain will still be there. But you..." He shook his head. "The longer you hesitate, the more you'll end up regretting it. There's no way to get that time back."

Bella stood up and went to look out of the window. It was raining, and she wondered if Edward had taken inspiration for his drawing of Florence from the rain that fell so often in Washington.

_You brought the sun_, he'd told her.

_As if any light could come from the black hole I'm living in_, she scoffed to herself. "How are your projects going?"

Charlie quirked an eyebrow at her. "Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

"I have. Coming here is helping me...sort of."

"Sort of? Care to explain how you can go back to living when you spend your time here? I've dealt with pain and death all my life long. How can you think even for a second that you'll find anything different here?"

"So why are you still doing this job, while you tell me to leave and go back to the life I've lost?"

"Because you can. I owe you and Renée an answer, and I won't stop until I find it. But as rough as it's been for you, you already have your answers about Garrett." His voice softened as he mentioned that name.

Bella flinched, and Charlie moved toward her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'd do anything to help you, but instead it seems like I only make things worse."

She shook her head. "I forced myself to stay here last night, because if I'd gone back home, I wouldn't have been able to resist. I would have gone to visit him."

"How often do you..."

"Once a week."

Edward wondered if these mysterious visits had anything to do with Bella's absence on Saturday. _Mind your own business_, he told himself.

Charlie retrieved a piece of paper from the kitchen counter. "I almost forgot...this is for you."

Bella forced her expression to remain neutral as she accepted Edward's drawing from her father; a smile would have given her away. But when she studied it more closely, she realized something was wrong. It wasn't the original drawing, but a photocopy. "What is it?"

Charlie looked down. "The subject gave it to me, as a present for you. The drawing might be significant. I'm going to analyze it."

"Am I part of your analysis, too?" she snapped. "What else are you doing to Edward?"

"Are you his defense attorney now?"

"Maybe he could use one."

Charlie barked a laugh. "About as much as one of your computers. Don't you see? It's like interacting with an artificial intelligence project. I understand it can be fascinating, because it goes beyond anything we've seen so far, but that's it. Edward isn't human. Don't let yourself be fooled."

"Do you really believe that? If Edward has no feelings, if he's just a thing or a robot, why haven't you destroyed him yet? Or why haven't you called your friends at the Bureau?"

He didn't reply.

"There was something I was considering asking Edward about the homicides."

Charlie narrowed his eyes as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you think that if you made him trust you, he would reveal something he's kept from us so far?"

"Maybe it was just a stupid idea. Forget I said it. It's not like I plan on visiting him again soon."

Edward stilled in his seat. He'd had to lie for centuries to keep the secret about his nature, but no one had been able to lie to him. Until now. The silence of Bella's mind had never been so unsettling. Why did the one person who could lie to him have to be the one he liked most?

Charlie's thoughts told Edward that he didn't have much time left at the prison. The Bureau had summoned Charlie, asking for a consultation on a case and a meeting in a few weeks, but Edward had immediately suspected that it might have something to do with his private research at the lodge. Chances were that he would come back from his next trip to Quantico with his former colleagues in tow, and Edward would be delivered to them.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Edward was relieved when he heard Bella's car leave. If she had come to visit him right after her conversation with Charlie, he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to keep his face a blank mask. Like leaves carried by an autumn wind, snippets from all the people he'd met passed through his memory. He recalled the lies he'd told, the good reasons he'd always found to justify himself, the belief that he had to. He'd never tried any other way, because he'd known it would mean his destruction.

But now said destruction was arriving. He recalled a passage from Dante he'd read when he was still human.

_He seeketh Liberty, which is so dear,_

_As knoweth he who life for her refuses._

In that canto, Virgil was introducing Dante to Cato, who had killed himself in order not to lose his freedom under Caesar's tyranny. _Forgive me, Carlisle,_ Edward thought. Carlisle had been his Virgil through the inferno of the vampire life he'd been damned to. His mentor had made him believe that, even if Heaven was lost, they weren't condemned to be demons. They could still rise above, retaining their humanity, and Edward had tried to do that in the myriad of days that had made up the decades of his existence, following Carlisle's example.

But now Edward was going to follow a different example. His sire had given everything to save his adoptive son's life, but if sacrificing that life was the only way to regain his freedom, Edward would do so.

He had no more intention of allowing Charlie to deliver him to the government than he would have had to go quietly with the Volturi, should they suddenly turn up on his doorstep. Both problems had the same solution. Edward would destroy himself by making the guards use the prison's security system, or he would provoke the Volturi to the point that they would prefer to annihilate him instead of keeping him as one of their talented slaves.

_No more lies,_ Edward vowed. If these were to be the final weeks of his long existence, he didn't want to die a liar.

_I won't lie to you. I've already made my choice,_ Bella had promised him.

_So have I, Isabella,_ he swore.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bella came back the following morning, and she wasn't alone. Edward clenched his teeth when Walsh met her in the parking lot and offered to walk her toward the lodge's hall.

"I brought some donuts," he told her. "I'd be willing to share, if you're interested."

Through the weasel's mind, Edward saw Bella walking more quickly. "Thanks, but I can't."

"Come on, don't tell me you're one of those girls who're obsessed with their figures."

Her expression soured, and Edward wondered why she wasn't telling Walsh about her celiac disease.

"By the way, you've lost weight since you worked here," he remarked.

Edward rolled his eyes. Couldn't that fool see that she was in pain, and her too-slim figure wasn't the result of a diet? Once again, he asked himself why he knew more about Bella than what she had revealed to Walsh–a human like her, a person Charlie trusted, and probably one of her former colleagues at the lodge.

She cut the conversation short. "Gotta go. I left some books here yesterday, and I have to get home as soon as possible."

Edward didn't linger on Walsh's thoughts. He got ready for what he was going to do when Bella entered the observation gallery.

She came in with her laptop. "I brought you more pictures," she announced.

"Isabella." He took a deep breath. _No way back from here._ "I have to tell you something about your mother."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

I promised you more about Italy, and so Dante (and his _Divine Comedy_) made an appearance in this story.

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s fantastic prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.**  
**

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!

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	8. Do Ut Des

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[4-22-2013]** After the cliffie...

_She came in with her laptop. "I brought you more pictures," she announced._

_"Isabella." He took a deep breath. No way back from here. "I have to tell you something about your mother."_

* * *

Chapter 8

**Do ****Ut ****Des**

* * *

Bella stilled. She felt her head spinning and found herself gripping the edge of the counter for support.

"Should I call my father?"

Edward opened his arms, reaching out toward her in surrender. "No, please don't. I want to talk with you alone, and then you can tell everything to whomever you want."

She sought out his gaze. _Am I looking into the eyes of the man who killed Mom?_ "Is this a confession?" Her vision blurred with tears. _Could he have fooled even Charlie?_ "No..." She shook her head in horror as she took a step backward, toward the door. "No. Tell me it wasn't you!"

Fear coursed through Edward at the thought that Bella might slam the door behind herself and leave for good. _What have I done?_ He'd been so eager to put his decision into practice that he hadn't given enough consideration to the wrong conclusions she might draw from his words.

"I swear it isn't like that," he rushed to reassure her. "Please stay and listen to me." He drew a hand through his hair, tugging at the unruly strands. "I know something else about the homicides, something I haven't said so far," he admitted, his voice calmer.

_Charlie told me there's proof that Edward isn't the Drainer,_ Bella reminded herself. Then she recalled what she'd told him: _There's something I wanted to ask Edward about the homicides_. "Did you hear my conversation with my father?"

He nodded. "You knew I would, didn't you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You've been here for months. Why would you decide to talk only now, and just with me?"

"If I'd tried to tell the others here what I know, they wouldn't have believed me."

"And what about me? Am I the gullible one?"

He scowled at her. "Don't be absurd. You're different, and don't tell me you aren't aware of it. Your visits to me aren't part of your job, right?"

"I wasn't lying when I told you so."

"Nor was I." He craned his neck to look at her straight in the eyes. "That makes you different from your father and all the others who work here." He briefly considered Walsh and Stephens, and the contingent of private guards who were employed at the lodge. "Their reasons for any interaction with me are clear: they want to know everything I can tell them about the homicides, or about what I am."

"And yet, you say you've been keeping something from them."

"That I have," he admitted. "_Do ut des_, says the Latin motto. _I give that you may give_. If they want information from me, I want something in exchange. And it works the other way round, as your father can tell you if you don't believe me."

Then and there, Bella decided to ask Charlie more about the way Edward was treated at the lodge. She still trusted her father but couldn't say the same about his assistants. "What do you want from me, then?"

He gave her a half-smile. "I was going to ask you the same thing. You came here and talked to me. Instead of subjecting me to interrogations or tests, you shared something about yourself and never asked about the homicides. A refreshing change to be sure, but some might call it too good to be true. If it's a well-crafted game, Miss Swan, it ends today."

"I'm not messing with you," she insisted, hurt by his insinuation. "Can't you trust me on that yet?"

He motioned to the cell around him. "Pardon me if, in my condition, I need some proof before giving my trust. Let's set some ground rules, shall we?" He didn't wait for her answer before continuing. "I'll tell you everything I know about the homicides, and then that's it. No questions or further discussion of the cases. If getting those answers was the only reason why you came here, today I'm giving you as much as you'll ever get from me."

"And if it wasn't?"

His lips stretched in a sad smile. "If it isn't, I gather you've some pictures you want to show me, and maybe some other subjects you'd like to discuss."

"Will you still want me to come visit you?"

"Will you, once you know that I'll never say another word about the cases?" he challenged.

"Try me."

They sized each other up for a moment, before Edward let out a quiet sigh and went to sit on the couch. He nodded in her direction. "Please, take a seat."

There was a plastic chair in the observation gallery, but Bella hesitated before doing as he'd instructed; he welcomed the brief pause to reflect on what he would say.

Telling her everything he'd read in the mind of the vampire who had attacked him and Carlisle meant giving up his best chance to bargain with Charlie. _But if Bella gets her closure, it will help her to go back to her life. Do it for her._ In a few weeks, he wouldn't be around anymore, but if he could offer her that much, wouldn't that at least give some meaning to the final months of his life?

_I don't want you to be in pain_, he thought, not daring to say the words aloud. He recalled the times Bella had apologized because she was afraid that she'd upset him. What was he giving her in exchange?

"When a vampire strikes, the tracks must be hidden," he began. He talked about vampires as if he couldn't admit that he was one of them, too. "The secret of our existence must be kept at any cost."

Resting her chin on her palms, Bella leaned toward the window of the observation gallery. "What does that have to do with the cases?"

"The Drainer's first homicide was the act of a reckless vampire who didn't bother to take care of the body."

"Did you know him?" Bella's question slipped out before she could think better of it. "Sorry," she muttered, afraid that Edward would take away what might be only chance to know the truth about her mother's death. "You said no questions."

He waved his hand, reassuring her that her question was fine. "I didn't know him. He was a male, but I haven't discovered anything more."_ Leave it at that._ In his final struggles before Edward won the fight, the guard the Volturi had sent to check on Carlisle had remembered how the first link to Washington had been the chain of homicides connected to the Drainer.

"Vampires are nothing but parasites, Bella," Edward said. The words were sour in his mouth, and he would have never looked upon Carlisle or their Alaskan friends as monsters. But they were the few exceptions in a depraved breed. "They were humans once, but after their metamorphosis they become predators of the species they used to belong to. The victims have life, while the vampire has not. Like an envious demon, he takes everything from them." He shuddered, recalling the countless times he would have traded his immortality for his humanity. Even the condition of the poorest, most miserable men seemed better than his, because they could still hope for a change, while he couldn't. "And yet, some humans glorify the evil that those parasites represent in the world, to the point that one man took inspiration from what that monster had done in Washington and began to kill."

Bella had read enough of Charlie's studies to know the proper term for what Edward was describing. "A copycat?"

He confirmed her conjecture with a nod.

The knowledge that men were capable of terrible evil didn't surprise her. But with his words, Edward was unveiling a dark world where wicked creatures used their supernatural abilities to bring about death.

Charlie's warning came back to her. _He's not human. He's a weapon_.

That was the kind to which Edward belonged. _Which side has he taken?_

Before she could ask anything more, the vampire darted across the cell, moving so quickly that he was nothing but a blur. Bella jolted, but before she could fully register the movement, he stilled, snapping his head up to face her. Still frozen, he stared up at her, a frown on his face.

She jumped to her feet, looking around, but saw nothing that could justify his sudden alarm.

"You must leave," he said at length. He shot a brief glance down at the serving hatch the guards used to pass him objects. He doubted that Bella had noticed his current proximity to the small doorway, let alone guessed the reason for his mad dash toward it.

"But you said you would tell me everything about the homicides," she objected. "You promised."

"I will, but not now. Charlie's coming." He neglected to mention that a bag of blood would be arriving for him in a few minutes, too.

"I can hear his footsteps," Edward explained before she could have suspicions about him being a psychic...or a mindreader. He tapped his ear. "Very fine hearing, remember?" It was a lie. Charlie was still in his study, working with Stephens, but he was thinking about heading down to the gallery for another interrogation session with Edward, putting into practice some suggestions the assistant had offered after reading Charlie's latest article.

Edward tried to gauge how many minutes they had before Charlie discovered that Bella was there. "Please, don't mention our conversation to anyone before we're done here."

"Are you going to change your mind about talking?"

"I don't make promises lightly," he retorted.

_Six years. Dad and I have been waiting for this answer for six years, and now that it's so close..._"Pardon me if, in my condition, I need as many guarantees as possible."

He caught the coldness with which she'd thrown his previous words back at him, but looked past it. "I've lost my parents, too," he told her quietly. Perhaps he should have pondered the pros and cons of divulging something more about his life, but the instinct to give her comfort had encouraged him to speak. He wanted to tell her that he understood her pain, but held himself back, afraid she would remind him that he had no place among humans anymore, and that he had no right to put himself in their shoes. He didn't think he could bear to hear her speak those words, no matter how much truth was in them.

"What happened to them?" Her voice was soft, and every trace of bitterness had vanished.

"It was because of a vampire." His words could have referred to either of his two families—his human parents or Carlisle, his sire and adoptive father. Despite the many differences between them, they had that much in common: each time Edward's ties with his parents had been severed by an inhuman creature who belonged to the Volturi coven.

Almost two centuries before, Sir Edward and Lady Masen had believed that their only son had died an early death in a foreign country. Their happiness had been taken from them for good, and all because two monsters had grabbed him to tempt Carlisle. Edward's life, and the lives of the people who loved him, had been smashed like overripe fruit thrown in a garbage can.

It had taken him decades to find a purpose for his new existence. He'd fought against his bloodlust because he refused to be a monster, and he'd tried to use his talents to help people. But in the end, none of it had been enough, because once again a vampire had crushed all that Edward had managed to achieve.

In his memory, he relived the night of Carlisle's death; Bella must have gone through that same excruciating sorrow when she'd lost her mother. He imagined the girl Bella had been back then, and looked at the fine woman she had become. All Edward wanted right then was to be able to hold her in his arms, showing her that she wasn't alone in her pain.

But even that was denied him. His metamorphosis had taken from him the ability to cry, or to offer her the warmth of a friendly embrace. He'd been torn away from his humanity, and at the same time the species who had claimed his life hadn't accepted him, to the point that his existence had caused the death of his sire. He had been a part of both worlds, and yet it seemed he belonged to neither.

"I can't tell you more about them." He sighed. "Not now, at least," he added, and with those last words he allowed himself to dream that he would share with Bella the long history of his life, sooner or later.

Swan and Stephens were already taking the stairs on their way down to the observation gallery. "It's time to say goodbye."

Reluctantly, Bella collected her things and prepared to leave. Edward cringed, comparing how excited she'd looked when she'd come in with her present look of defeat. "Bella," he called. "Do you remember when you asked me if, without this barrier, I would hurt you?"

She rested her hand on the window, just like she'd done when she'd asked him that question. "I do."

She should leave in a few seconds. "Has Charlie given you my drawing?"

She was baffled by Edward's sudden change in topic. "Don't you know? Aren't you keeping an eye on everything that happens around here?"

_No time for banter_. "Has he?" he urged her.

"Yes."

"I hope you've appreciated the rain falling on Florence. I've always been fascinated by the rain, because every drop is unique."

She rushed out, eager to see what Edward had hidden in his sketch.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Hey there."

Bella let out an exasperated sigh when she recognized the voice. She'd hoped that by avoiding the main corridor she would get a few minutes to regroup before driving home, but she should have known that she wouldn't be that lucky. Walsh grinned at her when she mumbled a halfhearted "Hi."

"I thought you'd already left. Are you back working with Charlie?"

"No. I just had to check some files on my computer here, and I'm leaving now." Hoping he would take the hint and leave her be, she started walking toward the exit. But much to her annoyance, he kept pace with her.

"Charlie is delivering a lecture in Portland next week, and Lee and I are attending. Why don't you come with us? There'll be a dinner, and we could catch up." He smirked at her. "Who knows, maybe it'll make you reconsider coming back to the team here."

Bella tried to decide if she should tell Walsh that she never attended Charlie's lectures–hopefully, that would discourage any further invitations. But before she could speak, the blare of the prison's alarm stopped them both in their tracks.

Walsh's phone began to ring. When he answered, even Bella could hear a loud scream on the other end.

Her knees buckled as she recognized her father's voice.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Edward has a lot to reveal. So far he's told there were two killers. Which one attacked Renée? The vampire or the human?

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s fantastic prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.**  
**

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	9. Doctor

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[5-06-2013]** After the (new) cliffie...

_Walsh's phone began to ring. When he answered, even Bella could hear a loud scream on the other end._

_Her knees buckled as she recognized her father's voice._

* * *

Chapter 9

**Doctor**

* * *

Walsh dashed toward the observation room, Bella hot on his heels. But when she tried to follow him into the gallery, a guard blocked her way. She struggled against Eric's massive frame to no avail.

"Let me through!" she screamed. "My father could be in danger."

"No way." Eric guided her toward a secluded room. "He told me to keep anybody but Walsh out. Please, Bella, you need to calm down. Your father is okay."

"How can you know that?"

"He isn't the one in danger. From what I could tell, Lee's the one who fainted."

Walsh recoiled as he entered the observation gallery. He was heading toward the window, sure that Edward had done something terrible; but the first thing he saw was his colleague curled on the floor.

Charlie was crouched beside Lee, trying to help him to breathe. "He'd just gotten here when he began to scratch himself," he explained. "He said it must have been a mosquito, but then hives started breaking out all over his hands."

Lee was shaking. He brought his hands to his throat. His lips were swollen, and he couldn't speak.

"Could he have eaten something he's allergic to?" Walsh asked.

"As far as I know, he hasn't eaten anything since this morning."

"Check for iodine!" Edward's yell made them whip their heads toward the cell.

"The intercom," Walsh muttered. "It's still on, and the freak heard everything."

He reached out to shut it off, but Edward spoke again. "He needs epinephrine, stat."

"Shut up," Walsh seethed at him.

_You moron_. Edward clenched his jaw. _Do they deserve my help?_ "Can't you see he's gone into an anaphylactic shock?"

"Says who? Are you playing doctor now?"

Charlie put a hand on Walsh's arm, silencing him. "What should we do?"

"Did he go to the restroom before coming here?" Edward asked.

The question made Charlie frown, but he answered anyway. "He might have."

"He might be having an allergic reaction to iodine, though such a strong one is highly unusual. It's an ingredient in some soaps, so he might have been exposed to it that way. If Lee knows he's allergic, he should be carrying some epinephrine with him," Edward replied. "Search for a syringe or a pen with an auto-injector."

"He often leaves his briefcase in the meeting room, right?" Swan asked his assistant. "Go look for it."

Walsh quirked an eyebrow at his boss. "You're actually going to listen to this freak? What if it's a trick—what if he's trying to hold us up? Why would he know anything about what soap we use in the restroom?"

"Do you have any better suggestions?" Charlie retorted.

Lee squirmed, panting to get more air.

"I'll go," Charlie muttered, rising quickly to his feet. He pushed past Walsh on his way out the door, breaking into a run once he reached the hall.

Walsh glared at Edward. "How would you guess that he's allergic to iodine or to anything else, for that matter?"

Edward turned his back on him. He wasn't about to tell the bastard that he knew it from Lee himself; his frantic thoughts had been bombarding him, unwittingly revealing that he was allergic to high doses of iodine. A new brand of soap had recently been bought for the restrooms, and in his hurry, Lee had forgotten to check the label.

_Have I made the right choice?_ Edward asked himself. He'd spent more years as a doctor than any of the people at the lodge had spent doing their own jobs. Not once had he had any doubt about saving a life. But in that situation, telling them that he knew what was wrong with Lee and how to treat him meant he risked exposing his mindreading abilities. If they found out about that, he had no doubt that they'd try to exploit it. It might even mean more interest from the government when they were eventually informed, and a greater chance that word about him would get out. _And if the Volturi discover what's happening...if they come to the lodge..._ Edward shuddered. Should the vampires who ruled his world find out that all of these humans knew about immortals, let alone his special talent, they would waste no time in wiping out the lodge and every human inside it as if it were an anthill marring their garden. Bella. He had to keep her safe, but every visit to him put her in further danger. And yet, he'd promised her that he would tell her everything he knew about her mother's killer.

"If you're messing with us..." Walsh threatened.

"What would you do, then?" Edward snapped. "Don't give him the epi if you don't believe me. I hope you can perform a tracheotomy in time to save your colleague's life."

"Why? Could you do it? What else are you keeping from us?"

Charlie ran in, holding an EpiPen. Edward stayed turned toward the opposite wall, as if he didn't care about what was going on, but through Charlie's and Walsh's thoughts he checked how they were giving Lee the epinephrine.

_Damn. It has to work._ That was Charlie's mind; his heart was slamming against his ribcage at the mere thought that he could lose one of his men.

_How could he know?_ Walsh couldn't believe his eyes as Lee slowly overcame the attack, his breathing returning to normal.

Charlie let out a sigh of relief and helped Lee to stand. "We need to call an ambulance."

"How would you explain the accident to the paramedics?" Walsh protested. "Are you planning on disclosing what we do here?"

Charlie nodded toward Lee. "Is that what you're worried about, after the danger he was in a moment ago?"

"I-it's okay." Lee breathed in. "I've had mild attacks before." He took another gulp of air. "But never this bad."

"Are you really allergic to iodine?" Walsh asked.

His colleague gave him a nod. "Yes, but only if it's in high doses. I'm sensitive to seafood, too, but never had an attack due to iodine before."

Walsh lowered the tone of his voice. "So how could he have found out about it?" He indicated Edward with a subtle nod.

Edward rolled his eyes. Hadn't the dumbass understood that he could hear them all perfectly well even with the intercom switched off?

A crease formed between Lee's eyebrows as he stared down at Edward. "Dunno. But he saved my life, and that's enough."

"Could he have overheard you talking about your allergy?" Walsh pressed.

"Let it go," Charlie cut in. "Lee, I'm taking you to a hospital for a check-up, okay? Unless you want to call an ambulance right now."

He shook his head. "I'm already feeling better. We can go to a hospital in Seattle for a check-up, but there's no need for an ambulance to come here."

_It doesn't end here_, Walsh thought, shooting a last glance at Edward before leaving the room. When Lee left the observation gallery, the vampire wondered if he'd been his last patient after such a long career.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Edward had indulged himself in a long struggle with his prey. The bear had been the biggest animal he'd found in ages, and he'd taken his time with it. He walked slowly toward the cliff where he'd left his clothes before abandoning himself to his predatory instincts. His belly felt full, and the everlasting burn in his throat was reduced to a mild dryness. As the blood he'd taken from the bear spread through his body, it warmed him and relaxed his stony muscles._

_He stopped at the top of the cliff. There was no sun, but the sky wasn't too cloudy, and the air was crisp. Edward closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his arms and stepped forward, until he was perched on two slippery stones at the edge. Just a single step, and he would fall into the deep ravine in front of him. Anyone who had lain eyes on him in that moment would have thought him the living manifestation of a Greek hero. His body was lean and sculpted, and the pale hue, slightly flushed by the recent nourishment, was that of a fine marble statue._

_With a swift motion, he bowed. He stilled in that new position, which resembled that of an athlete on the starting line. His gaze traveled down the walls of the narrow valley before him, taking in the sheer outcroppings of rock and the twisted vegetation which clung to the steep incline. At the bottom, the shimmering curves of a creek meandered lazily among the trees._

_The landscape made him think of the different paths opening in front of him in those days. He had new opportunities – the chance to fulfill a dream and put his talents to use. But in order to succeed, he would have to put himself on trial, testing his ability to mingle with humans without raising suspicions and his control over his bloodlust to the utmost._

_He paused. Carlisle's shift at the hospital was due to be over soon, and his father had told him he would read his work that evening. Edward grimaced at the idea of being around while Carlisle evaluated what he'd written. There was no way he would be able to resist taking a peek at his thoughts._

_Continuing on the path he'd begun to discuss with his mentor would be akin to jumping off that cliff. An initial moment of fear–even though his mind was used to the idea that he was unbreakable, there were times when he did something that would have killed him as a human, when he felt a light tension bubbling in his guts. Then, excitement would follow–a full, refreshing explosion of emotions._

_What would he choose?_

_He grinned as he made up his mind, his eyes already sparkling with enthusiasm. He stood again and, with a sudden leap, he threw himself in the ravine._

_It was late at night when he entered the gate of the detached house where he and his father lived on the outskirts of New Haven. Carlisle must have heard his approach because he shielded his thoughts, mentally singing an old French song he had probably learned in the years he'd spent at the Sorbonne._

_"So?" Edward asked him as soon as he opened the door._

_The wide smile his mentor gave him was the best answer he could have received._

_"Your dissertation is brilliant, Edward. It's so innovative and well-documented that it will open new lines of research in psychiatric studies, and I'm sure Yale's professors will agree with me."_

_Edward grinned. "Residency it is, then?" This wasn't his first degree in medicine, but it would be his first residency. He had never gotten that far in the past, since he had never considered becoming a surgeon, like Carlisle; but in recent months he'd entertained the idea of becoming a psychiatrist, and perhaps starting his own practice._

_"Absolutely." He clapped his son on the shoulder. "You'll make a wonderful doctor." His thoughts went back to the night in Italy when he'd met the human who would become the first and only vampire he'd changed. "A great deal has been taken from you, but now you have so much you can give, beginning with the help you'll offer to your patients."_

_They'd lived in the New World for more than a century; back in those times, they'd known of America only through books or the accounts of those who had visited that distant world. Now it was their home. They'd seen the world change for better or for worse, a prime example of the latter being the horrific World Wars they'd witnessed. The second World War had finished ten years earlier, and life for the humans around them had gone back to normal, often with new enthusiasm and new perspectives._

_"Maybe we'll be colleagues at the same hospital, sooner or later."_

_Carlisle beamed at his son. "I count on it."_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Edward followed Bella's heartbeat as she moved through the lodge. Eric had told her to wait for Charlie in the hall, and she ran toward her father as soon as he and Lee emerged from the lower levels. Charlie paused to give her a brief explanation of what had happened and to tell her that he was taking Lee to the hospital, just to be safe.

"Don't let anyone enter the gallery until I'm back," he told Eric.

Bella's face fell. "Is Edward all right?" she asked him in a low voice.

Charlie nodded. "What happened has nothing to do with him," he mumbled. Lee's accident could have occurred anywhere, and although Edward's intervention had been crucial, he couldn't discuss it with his daughter right then. "I'd be more at ease knowing that you're home, instead of here," he suggested on his way out.

Edward hoped that Bella would follow her father's advice, but it didn't happen. That scumbag Walsh sidled up to her as soon as they were alone in the hall.

He offered her a cup of coffee. "Rough day for you, huh?"

She was already walking away, but stopped in her tracks and accepted the steaming cup from his hands. "I guess it was the same for you."

Edward tensed. As long as he'd been observing her, Bella had always cut short Walsh's attempts to begin a conversation.

Walsh shrugged. "We're used to the stress. I knew what was I getting myself into when I chose this career."

_Did you?_ Edward mocked. _Did you take many classes on vampire psychology, then?_ Walsh's thoughts had often betrayed how the generous salary Charlie had offered him had been the main motivation for devoting himself to the job, more than any noble reason.

"I imagine it must be tough, not having many people with whom you can talk about what you've seen and done here." Bella's attempt at coaxing information out of Walsh might have made Edward smile, had she been trying it on anyone besides the prick.

"It gets to you sometimes," Walsh agreed. "Having to keep the secret. Not that I'd want to spend all of my time off talking about work," he added in a lower voice, his gaze drifting downward from Bella's face.

Edward let out a low growl as he witnessed the unfolding fantasy in Walsh's dirty mind.

"I gather there have been problems with the subject?" Bella tried again, steering the conversation back on the track she wanted. The professional tone she'd used didn't go unnoticed by Edward. She'd always called him by name, so being defined as "the subject" felt strange, but it was the best choice she could have made right then. If the bastard had sensed that Bella cared for the vampire they were studying–_Is it so?_ Edward wondered–he might have taken it as a threat, in more ways than one. The last thing they needed was for Walsh to see him as a rival for Bella's attention. _Who knows what that aspiring prima donna might devise?_

Walsh scoffed. "The danger that monster poses is an ongoing problem. Our task here is risky, but it's worth our efforts if it means we can keep people safe."

"Did he try to harm someone? My father or you?" Bella already knew the answers, but she wanted to keep him talking.

"Not this time. But when I think about all the people he's killed...how many more would he have attacked if we hadn't caught him?"

In his cell, Edward clenched his fists at Walsh's false accusations. He wanted to shut out that viper's thoughts, but his need to see Bella's reaction helped him to overcome his revulsion and stay focused on the man's obnoxious mind.

She paled, listening to what Walsh was implying. "Do you think he's a killer?"

"Think? I'm sure he is."

"Is he responsible for any homicide in particular?" Her voice trembled.

"I can't tell you more, but it's only a matter of time before we'll find out."

Bella bowed her head and remained silent. Even with her thoughts hidden from him, Edward could guess the questions creeping through her mind. _I haven't lied to you. And I've never killed a human._ He wanted to tell her those words again and again until she believed him. He wanted to hold her in his arms, reassuring her that if he had any role in her pain it was because he would offer her whatever comfort he could, and not because he'd caused it.

"I'll leave you to your work, then," Bella said at length. "You're right, it's been a hard day. It's better if I go home."

Edward wondered if he would get the chance to tell her the rest of what he knew. But he was no longer certain if that knowledge was the best thing he could give her. He couldn't help but wonder if distance would serve her better.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

No cliffies this time; a little teaser: Bella has Edward's drawing, and he told her, "I've always been fascinated by the rain, because every drop is unique." We'll find more about it in the next chapter.

In the chapter you've just read, I used an article from "Allergy 911-Prepare for Allergy Emergencies" for the part about Lee's anaphylactic shock.

About Edward's dissertation at Yale: "The M.D. thesis, a requirement at Yale since 1839, is a hallmark of the Yale curriculum. It is designed to develop critical judgment, habits of self-education, and the application of the scientific method to medicine. It also gives students a chance to work closely with faculty who are distinguished scientists, clinicians and scholars." (Source: Yale School of Medicine).

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s extraordinary prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.**  
**

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!

On MyReadingLounge you can find the story extras; images and poems are waiting for you:

**h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**


	10. The Power of Answers

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[5-20-2013]** Julius Caesar - _that_ Julius Caesar - plays a role in this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 10

**The ****Power of Answers**

* * *

Charlie Swan parked his car in his driveway but didn't get out immediately; his thoughts wandered through the events of the long day, which was finally coming to an end.

He gazed up at the front of the house, noting that the light in Bella's room was still turned on. _Is she working at her computer this late?_ His daughter had inherited from him the ability to focus on a project without the need for a break; when something fascinated her, she often skipped meals or cut back on her sleep, completely absorbed by the passion for what she was doing. Charlie hoped that what was keeping her wide awake wasn't worry, but something that could make her feel alive again, like her job with Rachel had done until a few months ago.

No light filtered out from the other windows of the house. He let out a sigh as his gaze rested on the corner where Renée's favorite armchair still sat. His memory drifted back more than twenty years, to when he and his wife used to cuddle their little Bella in that same room. Every evening, when he came home, the sight of them was his relief; in his line of work, he'd often been told how important it was not to succumb to the evil he witnessed on a daily basis. For him, his wife and daughter were a perpetual reminder of how much beauty there was in the world, and how precious and worthy of being protected it was. His family had given him the strength to keep doing his job, and to aim to do it to the best of his ability, with the hope that his efforts would grant to other people the safety he enjoyed in his home.

But over the last six years, the moment when he came home had become the mocking reminder that he'd lost his battle. The day Renée had been taken, he'd arrived in the late afternoon and had been put immediately on alert by the fact that her car wasn't in its usual place. Bella had been in Italy, enjoying a long holiday they'd given her as a gift, and Renée had told him she would prepare his favorite dinner; she'd hinted that they might spend the rest of the evening in the gazebo in the backyard, basking in the pleasant breeze of the warm season. That dinner had been the reason why she'd gone out to do some grocery shopping and had never returned.

The evil had entered his safe haven, bringing pain and destruction. And then, a few months ago...Charlie tried to push away the thought of the recent sorrow that had come crashing down on his daughter. _Forgive me_, he silently told Renée, as if his thoughts could reach her. _If there's any way I could have helped her better, please forgive me._

He left the car and walked toward the door. On the porch steps, he recalled the moment when he'd been told that his wife had been found. He shuddered, realizing that, if things had gone worse a few hours before, he would have had the burden of notifying Lee's family that he'd...Charlie recoiled at the mere thought, and found himself mentally replaying the conversation he'd had with him on their way back from the hospital.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_"I'm not coming back to the lodge."_

_Charlie, who was driving his assistant home, kept his eyes on the road. "Of course. Take all the time off you need."_

_Lee shook his head. "I'm not coming back...ever."_

_Charlie slowed the car and looked at him in disbelief. "Why? What would make you decide that, after all the time you've put into this project?"_

_Lee let out a slow breath, his eyes downcast. "I can't do it anymore, Charlie. I can't walk into that room and look at Edward trapped behind a sheet of glass–let alone interrogate him or run a test. He saved my life. I can't continue to be a party to his imprisonment."_

_"After what you went through today, you just need some time to recover. You'll put things in perspective in a few days."_

_"We've kept him in that cell for more than two months, and what do we have against him? It's a miracle he hasn't gone out of his mind."_

_"Have you forgotten how dangerous he can be?" The insane experiment Walsh had run on Edward was branded into Charlie's memory. He'd harshly reprimanded his assistant and had ended up accepting his apologies, though he'd been inclined to fire him for his recklessness. But Walsh hadn't been about to take that chance; he'd hinted that he could call the press and reveal what went on at the lodge. Charlie had been trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place, and granting Walsh the promise that he wouldn't lose his job on account of the accident had been the reward for his silence._

_"After what Robert did to him?" Lee countered. "If I were as strong as Edward, I would have done much more than that."_

_"See? Exactly my point. We can never let our guard down, and this is one of the reasons why I'm going to inform the Bureau about our research."_

_"I don't want to be there, then. I won't tell anyone what we've discovered – you can trust me on this – but I can't stand to see him imprisoned by the government or destroyed."_

_"So you'd rather take the side of a monster?" Charlie snapped. "The moment he's out, he would begin to kill, starting with us and the guards at the lodge."_

_"If he'd wanted to see any of us dead, he sure missed a great opportunity today. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, I wouldn't be here."_

_"What about Walsh, then? Don't you think the subject would hunt him down as soon as he was free?"_

_Lee groaned. "Do you think Robert has been pestering him with his questions since we left?"_

_"No way. I told Eric to not let anyone into the gallery as long as I wasn't there."_

_Lee pointed out his house as it came into view. "Some of his questions made sense, though. How could a vampire have such a broad knowledge of medicine?"_

_"I don't know, but I plan on finding out." Charlie stopped the car and let out an exhausted sigh. "I hope you'll reconsider your decision. I've shown you the evidence that other monsters like him have mingled with humans in the past. They disguised themselves as humans and earned people's trust before striking. Frankly, Lee, I wouldn't put it past Edward to do the same."_

_"But..."_

_"Please," he cut in. "I need the best researchers available to continue our studies." Charlie gripped the steering wheel with force. "One of those demons took my wife from me, and the thought that he could have made her trust him before..." The words died in his throat. He swallowed back a lump, unable to talk about the way Renée's body had been mutilated._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bella squinted and rubbed at her eyes, which were sore after the hours she'd spent staring at the computer screen. She'd scanned the copy of Edward's drawing her father had given her. _I hope you've appreciated the rain falling on Florence_, Edward had said. She selected an area of rainy sky on the drawing and began to zoom in on it._ I've always been fascinated by the rain, because every drop is unique._ It didn't take her long to discover what he'd meant by those words. The raindrops were made up of strings of minuscule numbers. Following them as they fell from the Florentine sky on Giotto's Campanile, Bella saw that they were all "ones" and "threes."

What could these numbers mean for him?

She wrote down the combinations of the two numbers, but could make no sense of them. She turned back to the drawing, hoping to find more hints there. She scrolled down the image and focused on the same areas where she'd written her questions for Edward when she'd shown him her photograph. In those same lozenges on the bell tower, he'd written some letters in minute handwriting, hiding them among the bricks of the building. She copied them: _Nafjref jvyy pbzr_. She moved down to the following level of the tower and found another snippet. _V pna'g gryy lbh rirelguvat, ohg V jba'g yvr gb lbh. V pner sbe lbh._

Bella stopped and blinked. The words made no sense at all. She put them into a search engine, trying to find out whether they belonged to some exotic language that Edward could speak, but to no avail. Then she recalled what they'd talked about before she showed him the picture. _I told him about my job._ She looked again at the mysterious words and suddenly the memory of one of her college classes resurfaced.

Mr. Molina, one of her teachers at the University, had led a seminar about cryptography, and had told them about rotation encryption and Caesar's cypher. In his private correspondence, Julius Caesar used to replace each letter with another that was some fixed number of positions down the alphabet. In order to decipher the message, the receiver had to know how many positions the letter had been shifted. Bella began to try different combinations: it didn't make sense with a shift of one, and she had no more luck with three. But when she tried it with thirteen letters, everything fell into place.

She could finally read the messages Edward had hidden in the drawing.

_Where and when were you born?_ She'd asked.

_Answers will come_, was his reply.

But when she reached the second set of words, she doubted she'd deciphered the message correctly:

_I can't tell you everything, but I won't lie to you. I care for you._

She'd asked Edward to trust her, and he was doing that. Could she reciprocate? He'd given her the drawing before they began to talk about her mother's assassin, but since then he'd assured her that he would tell her the truth. Could she believe his words?

She wondered why Edward had asked her to bring him works by Keats or Shelley or other Romantic poets. She intended to do just that, as soon as Charlie relaxed the restrictions on the observation gallery. She'd selected some poems and found a number of quotes about Italy and Florence in particular. One of them, by Percy Shelley, had caught her attention, and she read it again: _Thou Paradise of Exiles, Italy!_

Was that the way Edward had seen Italy? Or could he have wanted to tell her how he felt in the prison – exiled from his previous life, and not in Paradise, but buried in Hell?

_I'm reading too much into it_, she told herself. But new questions began to pile up in her mind: what could have brought Edward to Italy? Had he been there during his vampire existence, or when he was still human?

Succumbing to her tiredness, Bella switched off the light and fell asleep quickly. She dreamed of Italy and recalled an evocative riverbank in Rome, along the Tevere. It wasn't a part of the city she'd actually visited, but she'd seen the pictures in the tourist guide and had fantasized about finding that enchanting spot. It hadn't been possible back then, but in her dream she was walking along the river on that bank, basking in the sun of the late summer afternoon. A tall man sauntered up beside her and rested his elbows on the bridge railing, looking down at the quiet river below. He turned toward her, and his face brightened with an open smile. He had green eyes and his skin was slightly tanned, but Bella recognized him. It was Edward.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

As the last act in what seemed to him a neverending day, Charlie returned to the lodge. Edward braced himself for the coming onslaught of questions that he could foresee in Charlie's mind well before he entered the observation gallery.

"You were right," Charlie began. "Lee had an anaphylactic reaction, and without your help the consequences could have been terrible. He's very grateful to you."

Edward eyed the bottle his captor held in his hands; it represented the proof of what had caused Lee's allergic reaction. "I take it you didn't come here tonight just to thank me on his behalf."

"Glyceryl Cocoate, Panthenol..." Charlie read aloud from the label of the bottle of soap he'd brought with him. "And here we go: iodine." He lifted the bottle, holding it close to the gallery's glass. "This antiseptic soap arrived a couple of days ago. It comes in bulk, and it was bought for the restrooms of the entire building," he went on. "Except for yours. That means there's no chance you could have known that it contained iodine. So, would you care to explain to me how you came up with the right diagnosis?"

"A lucky guess?"

"I don't believe in luck."

Edward scowled. Based on what he knew about Charlie's life, and having witnessed the sorrow that occupied his mind, he couldn't blame him. "He had the symptoms of anaphylactic shock."

"But why would you be so well-informed about them? You even knew about epinephrine and the EpiPen."

"Your man is okay, isn't he? Shouldn't that be enough?"

Charlie didn't relent. "Is your kind affected by the same allergic reactions?" he pressed.

"I don't think so." Edward gave him a mocking grin. "Maybe I should be checked for food allergies. Would you offer me a bite as a test?"

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "The cabin where I found you was destroyed by the fire, but I've examined what I could collect of your clothes. You wore expensive jeans and a tailored shirt. Now it turns out you have medical knowledge." He silently added how Edward's manners and use of formal language pointed to an upper-class upbringing, and resolved to get straight to the point. "What did you do before you were brought here?"

Edward closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "You know what I am. That's already too much."

"How many people have you fooled, pretending to be human?" Charlie pressed. "Others of your breed have already done it, and their purpose was always the same." The inhuman creatures mentioned in the 98331 folder had been killers, and none of them had missed their targets.

The implicit accusation was not lost on Edward; his hands clenched into fists. "I've already told you that I've never killed one of your breed. And there's no evidence proving otherwise."

"What did you used to do, then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? Knowledge is power, but what are you putting at stake in order to get it, Charlie?"

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" He raised his voice. "Should I search for doctors that match your description? Would I find out that you had a fake job, perhaps?"

Edward froze at the thought of what his exposure would mean for Bella, and for the other people who would be destroyed just because they knew about him. _As if Carlisle hadn't been enough._ Charlie would never know how fortunate he was to have escaped the Volturi's wrath for so long.

"What would you do, then? Would you tell all the world that you're the brave knight who locked away the evil vampire?" He laughed bitterly.

"If I can prevent even a single person from being attacked by one of your kind, everything would be worth it."

"Everything?" Edward growled. "Even the people you care for? Do you have any idea of the risks to which you expose both them and yourself with every detail you discover about me?"

"Still trying to scare me?"

"I'm not the one you should be afraid of. Believe it or not, I'm not the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

In the next chapter we'll know more about Edward's passion for Romantic poets. Stay tuned!

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s great prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.**  
**

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!

On MyReadingLounge you can find the story extras; images and poems are waiting for you:

**h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**


	11. Poetry Class

Raum

_Snare_

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**[6-3-2013]** Are you ready for some English poets? And for something more about Edward's backstory?

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Chapter 11

**Poetry ****Class**

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The whole weekend went by without any sign of Bella.

Edward checked on every thought he could read in the minds of the people working at the lodge, paying special attention to Charlie. If Charlie were to put into practice his intention to call the Bureau, Edward would never get the chance to tell Bella the rest of what he knew about her mother's homicide. _I've only made it worse_, he chastised himself. He could give the information to Charlie or even the agents of the Bureau, but it wouldn't be the same. Even if he could provide Bella only a little comfort, he wanted to look her in the face when he disclosed everything he had found out about the Drainer.

It took him more time and courage to admit the second reason he wanted more chances to meet with her. He was eager to know if, even after getting her answers about the Drainer, she would come back just to visit him. _And then? Even if she enjoyed your company, you two will be separated very soon and for good. If you really care about her, you should let her go_.

Lee Stephens didn't come back either, and the shifts were divided between Charlie and Walsh. Edward wondered if Charlie's assistant had gotten worse after the anaphylactic reaction, but a conversation between Charlie and the prick revealed to him what had actually happened. _If saving him from an anaphylactic shock was all it took to get rid of him, why couldn't it have happened to Walsh instead?_ The ambitious scumbag had offered to take up most of the shifts his former colleague had left vacant; as a result, he was even more present at the lodge, imposing his obnoxious inner monologue on Edward.

The people's thoughts and the changing of the guards told Edward that Saturday had arrived. Until three months before, he and Carlisle would have gone for a long hunt together, unless they were busy at the hospital. They used to go hunting on their own when they needed a quick meal between shifts, but whenever they got a free weekend at the same time, the hunt became a chance to spend some time together without having to hide behind their human masks.

They liked to race while hunting, even if Edward always won. In the first months after their change, vampires were stronger and faster than their peers because of the human blood still running through them. But even after that, Edward had continued to be faster than any vampire Carlisle had ever met.

A light smile grazed Edward's lips as he recalled his lost sire. But when he looked around at the narrow space of his cell, he felt like the air had been sucked out of him. He missed the open air and the endless challenges that the wilderness offered him. When he was free to run for miles and miles, he could always find a new limit, something fresh he had yet to experience.

And in the forest, he and Carlisle could feed on the animals they liked most, hunting them and emulating each other. That was something that reminded Edward of his human years, when he used to go hunting with his father on their estate in the English countryside. There had been times—especially in the days following his transformation, when Carlisle had given him advice on how to hunt better—when the kind and perfect face of his adoptive father had overlapped with the more mature features of Sir Masen. Whenever Edward had succeeded in catching the prey of his choice, Carlisle's amber irises had gleamed with the same pride that Edward had once seen in his father's dark green eyes.

Sir Edward Masen had involved his son in the administration of their estate, preparing him for his future as its new master–a future that would never arrive. When Carlisle and Edward had finished their hunt, they usually walked back home talking about the cases they were working on at the hospital, or about their memories of England–the country that had once been their home. The country to which they would never return.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Edward wondered how Bella was spending her Saturday. She'd mentioned to Charlie that she visited a certain place once a week; her sadness, coupled with Charlie's thoughts, led Edward to believe that she had to face some secret sorrow there. Could it be related to her mother? He recalled that Bella had mentioned a job she enjoyed, and he imagined that after Renée's death she'd found a way to get better and restart her life. But given what he'd learned from Charlie's mind, Edward's guess was that something else had happened to Bella, more recently and apparently no less painful than the tragedy of losing her mother._ I wonder if it has anything to do with that Garrett person Charlie and Bella mentioned in their talk._

He thought back to his work, and to all the people he'd helped over the course of his career as a psychiatrist. His ability to read his patients' minds had enabled him to excel in that profession, but could he be of any help to Bella? _Why would she ever want your help?_

On the next day, Charlie allowed himself some time off for a fishing excursion. Shortly after his departure, Walsh arrived at the lodge. Edward refrained from reading his thoughts–Walsh was revising the research he and Charlie would present at a conference in Portland the next weekend, and although he found the subject interesting, Edward couldn't stand the notion of following it through _that_ mind.

The vampire tried to distract himself by recalling the books he'd loved most and silently going over the notes of his favorite songs. During the initial days of his imprisonment, he'd considered the possibility of focusing on new compositions, but lately he'd given up on the idea. For him, that had been the beginning of the end–the moment when he'd realized that he would never have the chance to play any new creation, and that there was no point to writing down the notes.

The roar of a car he recognized mingled with the notes of Bach's _St. Matthew Passion_ playing in his memory.

"Bella," he murmured, savoring her name on his lips. He tried to calm down, bracing himself for the disappointment he would be forced to give her: without a doubt she was back to get her answers, he couldn't give them to her...not yet. When the prick was in charge, he tended to be more alert, and sometimes he came down to the cell for an impromptu visit. Edward couldn't risk Walsh finding him while he talked with Bella about the Drainer. Nor could he stand the thought of the bastard trying to comfort her, should he have found her after Edward's revelations. The idea of Walsh's arms around her slim body, and of his lascivious desires hidden beneath a mask of compassion, disgusted him.

Through the mind of one of the guards, Edward saw Bella entering the lodge. Wisely enough, she came in as quietly as possible and gave the guard only a cursory explanation, doing her best to avoid alerting Walsh. When she approached the door of the observation gallery, and the scumbag's thoughts told Edward that he was still engrossed in his research, unaware of Bella's presence at the lodge, the vampire took an unnecessary breath of relief.

"How are you?" Bella's voice wrapped around Edward like a soft blanket.

He let his smile answer in his place.

She placed her laptop on the counter and set about switching on the projector. "What happened with Lee?" Her gaze didn't meet his as she let the question linger between them.

He frowned. "Didn't Charlie tell you anything?"

"He did, but I'd like to know your version of the story."

"Lee had an anaphylactic reaction, but Charlie helped him in time. I haven't heard anything about him since then. Do you know if he's doing well?"

"Yes. Charlie keeps checking up on him." Her eyebrows furrowed. "When I heard my father screaming, I was afraid that something had happened to you...or because of you."

"Did you think I had attacked the big Swan?"

She nodded.

"I'm aware of the danger I pose," he murmured. "But I've never killed a human, nor would I want to."

"Even after what they've done to you?"

He gave her a solemn nod and recalled what he'd promised to himself more than two centuries before. Had he ever used his supernatural strength to kill a human, he would have become like the monsters who had taken his life. The hate he felt toward them was even stronger than any desire for revenge against his captors.

"Have you ever killed?" she asked.

Edward searched for Bella's gaze before replying. "Not one of your kind."

If she had any question about other kinds he might have slain, she didn't voice it.

He considered again what she might have imagined when she'd heard her father's scream. "Were you really worried that something had happened to me?"

"Of course I was."

"Because otherwise you wouldn't have gotten what I promised to you..." he mused.

"In part, yes."

He raised an eyebrow. "In part?"

"The thought of you...harmed in any way...it upsets me."

He didn't need to read her thoughts to know that the concern on her face was sincere. _And wrong_, he added. _She shouldn't be worried for me._

Walsh's thoughts abruptly shifted, forcing Edward to pay more attention to them. The weasel had reached a part of the research that he found particularly difficult and was considering a coffee break. _Maybe I'll grab a cup and go check on the freak._

Edward was on the verge of telling Bella to leave when an incoming message on Walsh's phone made him change his plans. The prick grinned as he read a girl's invitation to spend the evening together at a bar in downtown Seattle. He started texting with her, his intention to visit the cell forgotten.

The tension on Edward's face didn't go unnoticed by Bella. "Is something wrong? You seem upset."

"It's okay. Just a fleeting thought. But Bella, I can't tell you anything more about the homicides—not today."

Her face fell, and she swallowed before speaking again. "Will you..."

"I've already promised you that I'll tell you everything." He bowed his head, wishing that he could actually fulfill his promise. "I'm sorry."

"May I ask you why?"

A grim smile tugged at his lips as he pointed toward the upper floors. "Let's just say we're in bad company at the moment."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Can we talk about something else, then?"

"Sure. I always enjoy a good poem," he said, his tone as vague as his ability to dissimulate allowed him. "English Romantic poets are my favorites."

"I brought you some poems, like you asked." She busied herself with her laptop; the first image that appeared on the cell's wall was that of an old red Chevy, with a younger Bella and a bunch of guys standing around it.

Edward's gaze shifted between the photograph and Bella.

Her cheeks flaming red, she rushed to push the key that would change the picture. "It must have ended up with the other pictures by mistake."

He couldn't imagine her driving that old, rusty beast of a vehicle, and given Charlie's income, he was sure he would have bought something better for his only daughter. "Is that your car?"

More than by his question, she was puzzled by the frown on his face.

"What? Are you an expert on cars now?"

He smirked. "I'm an expert on elegance...or lack thereof."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "It belonged to a friend. We were in high school, and since he was the oldest and the first to drive, he became something of a celebrity among his schoolmates. Happy with the story?"

Her reply had been cold, but what he'd noticed most was the way her voice had broken on some words. Edward couldn't bring himself to make the snarky comment that had been forming in his mind. "Was he a special friend?"

She shrugged. "Not really. But it was a special time."

Once again, Edward felt that he could understand her, because every time he found a fragment related to the world in which he'd lived as a young human man, he considered it a cherished treasure, a memento of a distant time when he'd been truly happy–or so it seemed to him, in comparison with what had happened after.

"I happen to like cars," he admitted, trying to get the conversation back on track. He didn't tell her that if his life had gone the way it was meant to, he would have died well before the advent of the automobile. "And I must confess that I'm a fast driver."

"You're supposed to be invulnerable, aren't you?"

"Let's say I'm much less...breakable than you."

"I hate when drivers speed." The coldness of her statement hit him out of the blue. Bella's clenched fists, and the tension evident on her face and body, told him that she wasn't only referring to what Edward had just said. _There must be more_. He mentally went through the evidence from the Drainer's cases, as well as what he had gleaned from Charlie during his interrogations. In neither the files nor Swan's thoughts had there been any hint pointing to car speed playing a role in the Drainer's modus operandi or his victims' profile.

She turned toward the door, and Edward's instinct made him lurch forward, as if he could prevent her from leaving right then. "We don't have to talk about it," he pleaded. "Stay a little longer."

Bella didn't reply, but she didn't walk away, either.

"When we talked about Florence, I recalled some poets who visited Italy and loved it," Edward went on. "Through their verses, it's as if we can see them, enjoying the same landscapes that amazed us both, Isabella."

The warm, sweet tone of his voice captivated and soothed her. Bella turned back toward him and leaned over the counter; she rested her head against the glass separating them, getting as close to Edward as she could. "Please go on."

"_Ever let the Fancy roam_," he began to quote. "_Pleasure never is at home:/ At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,/ Like to bubbles when rain pelteth_." His voice was like music. Bella could remember reading that poem in her English class in high school, but listening to it as Edward's voice caressed the words and made them resonate throughout the room, she imagined that the poet was composing the verses right then, only for her. "_Then let winged Fancy wander/ Through the thought still spread beyond her:/ Open wide the mind's cage-door,/ She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar_."

Bella thought about the Italian sky–its bright blue color so perfect it seemed freshly painted, and the stark white of its clouds. "Do you miss the sky?" she whispered, thinking about Edward's captivity.

"More than I can ever tell you."

_I dreamed of you_, she was tempted to tell him. _We were under such a beautiful sunset in Rome. If you could read my mind, I would show you how perfect that moment was_. "Thank you for the poem," she told him quietly. "It seems you didn't need me to bring you anything, after all. The verses you remember are much better than anything I found."

"Shelley can have this effect."

Bella raised her eyebrows. Although a number of years had passed since her English classes, she would have sworn that the verses Edward had quoted weren't by Shelley. "Isn't that poem by Keats?"

He chuckled. "I apologize. You're right, of course." The half-smile that accompanied his words made her suspect that he was giving her a new hint.

"I've even visited the poet's birthplace," he went on. "Among the local historical heritage buildings, there's a manor house that dates back to the early eighteenth century. The guide recommended that we check out its collection of paintings."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Isabella didn't lose a second trying to research Moorgate, where Keats had been born, but went directly to a map of Field Place, the town in Sussex that had been Shelley's home. _Answers will come_, Edward had told her in reply to her questions about his past. Could it be that her curiosity was about to be fulfilled at last? She frantically looked for manor houses that had a website and allowed a virtual visit, sure that Edward couldn't have meant that she had to actually travel to England to follow his hints.

One historical building had a comprehensive website that provided a wealth of information. She began to skim through the history of the family who had owned the manor house before it was bought by the foundation that still took care of it. _The Masen family..._she scrolled down until she found the link to a virtual gallery.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Edward."

In the painting, his dark copper hair was neatly combed. His eyes were a vibrant green, his expression solemn. The hue of his skin appeared less pale, but the high cheekbones and the fine profile of his nose were the same.

Bella had to wipe away the tears forming in her eyes to read the caption under the picture in front of her.

_Edward Anthony Masen, son of Sir Edward and Lady Elizabeth Masen. b. Masen Manor 1780, d. Italy 1803._

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**Thanks for reading!  
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**Notes**

Edward quotes _Fancy_, by John Keats (1795–1821). You can find it on MyReadingLounge. Images, poems, and music are waiting for you over there: **h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s extraordinary prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.**  
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	12. The First and the Last

Raum

_Snare_

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**[6-17-2013]** After Edward's backstory, an important part of Bella's past is finally revealed: meet Garrett.

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Chapter 12

**The ****First ****and ****the ****Last**

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When Charlie and Robert left for their conference, Eric was put in charge for the weekend. Edward welcomed the news, because Eric was the most reserved among the private guards who worked at the lodge. _Who would have imagined I could feel lucky that a particular human was guarding me?_ Charlie had given him an extra bag of blood before leaving, so no activity was scheduled in the cell or the observation gallery over the upcoming days. _Like a family feeding a pet before they go away for the weekend._

The vampire focused on the sounds he could pick up from the lodge's surroundings. The woods were so close, and yet he could not visit them; he could only rely on his memories to fill in the blanks. He listened to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees and the occasional rustling of an animal running through the bushes, and as minutes turned into hours, he felt tension building within him. _She'll come_, he reminded himself, sure that, with her father and his assistant currently away, Bella wouldn't miss the opportunity to interrogate him about the Drainer. Even if he'd been given the chance to escape right then, Edward wouldn't have taken it, for he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her. He would fulfill his promise, and the main part of the mystery that had tortured Bella and Charlie since Renée's death would be solved. But the mystery of Bella Swan would consume him for the last leg of his existence._ I'll never know why her mind is closed to me_. He went through the many things he would have liked to talk about with her. _I'll never know how she would feel in my arms_.

Surprised by his own thought, Edward winced. _Where did that come from?_

He'd never wanted any kind of physical intimacy with a woman who didn't belong to his own species, no matter how attractive she was. Through Tanya's thoughts, he'd seen how she liked the warmth of the humans she seduced, but Edward hadn't thought it feasible or even desirable. He'd always told himself that the need to keep up his façade, making excuses for his cold, stony skin, would be such an annoyance that the contact wouldn't bring him any pleasure. But what he didn't want to admit, even to himself, was that he didn't want a reminder of the humanity he'd lost. Yet with Bella, it was different. Even though the distance between them seemed insurmountable–with their nature, their current situation, and the barrier of her silent mind separating them–he felt so at ease with her that an embrace would have been just the physical expression of the bond he already felt between them.

The mere idea that soon he would be forced to say farewell to Bella caused him pain. _How is it possible? Shouldn't I be used to that by now?_ Humans were like meteors shooting across the dark sky of his existence; even the ones he'd admired during his studies, or the patients for whom he'd cared most were bound to be just fleeting appearances in the endless stream of years his immortality had bestowed upon him. But not her. Once again, he searched for any sign that could tell him that she was coming, like a drowning man would have struggled to get a gulp of air.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Bella stared at her phone, mentally replaying the call she'd just received. Rachel had asked her to go out on Saturday night. _It would be just a movie with a few close friends – no need to talk about work_, she'd sworn. She'd insisted that she didn't want an answer right away – _Unless it's a yes_, she'd said with a light chuckle. Bella hadn't actually accepted, but she hadn't said no either, and her former colleague had deemed that a step in the right direction, an unhoped-for sign that Bella might at last be on the road to recovery.

The screensaver on Bella's phone was currently showing a picture of Venice that she'd taken during her holiday in Italy. It was a reminder of one of the last projects she'd worked on when she'd still been in business with Rachel: a collaboration with a Venetian museum. It had been during that project that she had put the picture on her phone. A more innocent time. She could never have imagined that she would resign before finishing that assignment.

Suspended between sky and earth, between land and sea, Venice seemed to represent her current condition; she felt stranded in the gray shadow between the light of the life she used to have, and the darkness of a future she wasn't eager to face. The future still held so many possibilities for her, but she was letting them slip away. Over the last few months, the advice of her father, her friends, and her therapist had been the same: _You've gone through a lot of pain, and it's normal that you're still grieving. But you have so much to live for. Don't allow yourself to wither away like this. Your mother wouldn't want this for you, nor would Garrett..._

Just thinking about Garrett's name had still the power to take her breath away.

_In...out...in...out..._ Eyes closed, she took deep breaths until she regained control of herself. Bella recalled what she'd just told Rachel over the phone and considered calling her again to tell her that she'd changed her mind, but then she thought better of it. With Charlie going to Portland for the weekend, she knew that if she'd been alone at home on Saturday, the grief would have been overwhelming. _I won't wait this time_, she decided, getting ready for her weekly visit to the cemetery.

Bella drove slowly and remembered the first time she'd gone there—how the road had seemed neverending, and at every junction she had been tempted to turn back and give up. She had been afraid that the moment she arrived and found the strength to look at the grave, the numbness that had enveloped her until then would dissolve, leaving raw pain in its place.

She parked in her usual spot and walked in. Had it been a Saturday, she would have met an old man whose visits often coincided with hers. During one of the few times their paths had crossed, he'd told her that he came to see his mother and had indicated the tombstone. Bella had noticed the picture displayed there – a black and white photograph of an attractive woman – and the dates had told her that the man must have lost his mother when he was just a boy. Common courtesy would have suggested that she tell him who she was visiting in turn, but she had remained silent, unable to talk about her bond with the person buried in front of her.

She knelt before the plain gravestone marking Garrett's final resting place.

"See? You used to say that I'm predictable, but today I broke my routine," she whispered. During her first visits, she hadn't spoken at all. When she became more comfortable, she found herself speaking on a few occasions. Now, talking to his grave was a habit. "But I won't come this weekend."

A lump formed in her throat, but she gulped it down. "I'm sure people think I come on Saturday because it's the day you..." she couldn't complete the sentence. _The day you died...the day I discovered that everything you'd been telling me was a lie._ "Anyway, that's not the reason. I wonder if you realized it." _Silly. As if he can hear you. As if he'd even care..._ "It was a Saturday the first time I admitted I was in love with you."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Bella hated going to the mall on Saturday afternoons, but her computer's keyboard had chosen to misbehave that day, so she had little choice but to mingle with the teeming crowds in the shopping center. It had a well-stocked computer store, and she could take the opportunity to visit a bookstore that had just opened there._

_She was on her way out when she bumped into a tall boy. They fell together, and her new keyboard tumbled to the floor, just like the boy's purchases – paintbrushes, a large canvas, and a bunch of paint tubes. When she raised her eyes, ready to give him her apologies, she found herself only a few inches away from Garrett Shearer._

_They'd known each other since they were little kids, and had shared some classes in school, but it seemed that lately they never got the opportunity to spend time together. Garrett had become an attractive young man, as well as one of the most promising students in their school, and Bella couldn't stand the flock of younger girls that always seemed to surround him. She was surprised to find him alone for once._

_"Were you in a hurry?" he asked._

_"Not particularly...just distracted."_

_He gave her a wide smile. "So does that mean you have time for a coffee?"_

_They began to talk about their plans for college. Bella had already decided that she would stay in Seattle, at least for her B.A., while Garrett had been admitted into the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Everyone at their school knew that he wanted to become a painter, but that afternoon Bella saw that it wasn't just something he said to put on airs. He could talk about painters she'd never heard of like if they were his best friends, and he didn't seem to be annoyed by either Bella's ignorance on the subject or her questions. He opened his shopping bag and began to flip through a book about French art he'd just purchased._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"It was the day when you showed me–" Bella stopped. She closed her eyes and could see Monet's _Cliff Walk at Pourville_ as if it were in front of her. It was one of Garrett's favorite paintings, and it was in Chicago, where it belonged to one of the Art Institute's collections.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Garrett told her how that painting reminded him of the cliffs he went to visit so often in Washington. Bella knew them, too, for Renée loved to go walking there whenever they were graced with one of the Northwest's rare sunny days. It was as if Monet, from another time and another continent, had found a way to immortalize on canvas what both Bella and Garrett felt when standing in front of a landscape like that – the warmth of the sun kissing their skin, the cool breeze grazing the grass, the scent of the sea, calming and inebriating at the same time._

_"Do you dream of being able to paint so well, when you walk along the cliffs?" she asked._

_Garrett cupped her cheek, his fingers sliding behind her ear and down her neck. She held her breath, her gaze fixed on his as he leaned toward her._

_"I dream of you," he murmured._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Until three months ago, a reproduction of that painting had been hanging on the main wall of Bella's office. She used to glance at it when Garrett didn't return her calls or only sent her a quick text late at night, always complaining that grad school was keeping him insanely busy. Sometimes she went to visit one of the cliffs where he'd taken her in the summer, trying to recall what she'd felt when she was there with him. _Come back to me_, she used to whisper to the sea, as if it could carry her plea to her boyfriend. His visits had become less frequent, and it wasn't unusual for him to cancel on short notice. Bella had been thinking about taking a few days off and going to visit him in Chicago, when...

She sat on her heels, hugging herself. "You could have had everything," she blurted. "You had talent, you had opportunities..." Anger surged through her. "And you had me."

She stood up, her clenched fists shaking at her sides. "I wish I could have you back just for a minute. Even if it didn't work between us, I was still your friend. And as a friend, if you were here I'd smack you so hard, I'd break my hand. Who knows? Maybe it would have knocked some sense into you." _Maybe it would have saved your life_, Bella thought, taking her leave.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Charlie had probably already arrived in Portland by the time Edward picked up the rumble of Bella's car on the unpaved road that led to the lodge. Through Eric's mind, Edward watched her feed him a story about an assignment she was doing for Charlie over the weekend. Eric was well aware that Bella was the one who had set up the security system of the lodge; according to her story, Charlie had asked her to check some upgrades he would consider having installed during the upcoming week. Given that there was no activity scheduled for the subject over the weekend, Bella would have the opportunity to run some tests. Edward smiled as he watched her body language through Eric's mind. Even by human standards, she had the least convincing acting skills he'd ever witnessed.

But when Eric bought her story and she padded toward the observation gallery, Edward braced himself for what would happen. His gaze met Bella's for only a brief moment before he averted his eyes from her. He didn't want her to notice his irises, which had turned a dull red after his recent meal.

"Can we...?" she whispered.

He nodded.

"You told me there are two killers involved in the Drainer's cases."

He heard her heartbeat quickening as she switched on the intercom, waiting for him to talk.

"Not anymore." In his memory, Edward saw again what the Volturi's messenger had revealed in his final thoughts. "I told you that the first homicide was the result of a nomad preying on humans. They go wherever their thirst guides them, but they tend to have a routine and return to the same places, sooner or later. The human copycat drew too much interest about a supernatural killer in Washington, so the nomad came back and stopped him."

"Why?"

Edward wished he could know what Bella was imagining. _Does she think that the vampire repented and wanted to stop the evil human?_ The truth was very different. "He was concerned about exposure." Once vampires knew what the consequences of exposure were, they became obsessed with the need to preserve the secret; Edward could understand the nomad's terror at the thought of being punished. "If the existence of vampires had been revealed and proved, other vampires would have sought him out and destroyed him."

Bella tried to process what he was implying. If what Edward was telling her was true, and the nomad vampire had come back... "D-does it mean that the last..." she babbled.

"Yes," he confirmed, understanding what she wanted to know. "The last victim was the one who killed the others." His voice went low. "The one who killed your mother."

_I'll talk with Charlie as soon as he comes back_, he resolved. He could tell him to check the evidence again; venom had not been found at most of the crime scenes, the only exceptions being the first and the last. He would give Charlie that clue, but there was no way he was discussing the horrors of the crime scenes with Bella.

He glanced over at her and couldn't go on, hurt by the awareness that she would be tortured by the pointless search for meaning in what had happened to her mother. He could give her the facts, and those he'd just delivered, but he couldn't answer the "why?" that would never leave her in peace. "Why?" he'd asked himself for the umpteenth time, thinking about the human family he'd lost and the pain his disappearance had caused them.

"Why?" The question had come back over the weeks of his imprisonment. He'd struggled to find a meaning for his inhuman existence; decade after decade, he'd fought against his instincts because he didn't want to be a monster. He'd tried to use his talents to help people, but it hadn't been enough, because his existence had caused the death of his adoptive father.

A quiet sob escaped from Bella, followed by others. She recalled how the Drainer's cases had broken her father, even before Renée's death. Charlie was tortured by knowing that he hadn't been able to save those people from that monster–he hadn't even kept his wife safe. When the killer hadn't stopped after Renée's death, he'd gone through hell at the news of every new homicide, because he knew firsthand how the victims' families would suffer. He could have never imagined that his wife's killer had been hidden among the other victims. Charlie had gone to his funeral, comforted his family, and lost months working on his case.

_What was it that cost my mother her life?_ Bella wondered. _The fantasies of a psycho trying to imitate a vampire? Or the carelessness of an inhuman predator who didn't bother to clean up after his meal?_

"What are we for your kind?" she snapped. "Just snacks? Bags of food, whose lives mean nothing? Is that what I am to you?"

Edward cringed at her outburst. "No, Bella!"

She turned her back on him, quickly shutting down the intercom down.

"Listen to me!" he begged.

She was out, running along the corridor before he could finish his plea.

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**Thanks for reading!**

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**NOTES**

Poor Bella...she'll come back, but right now she needs a moment on her own. What caused Garrett's death? Bella will answer this question soon.

Meanwhile, _Snare_'s extras are available on MyReadingLounge: **h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s lovely prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**. Thanks to **Emergency Beta Service**.

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!


	13. Marionette

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[7-1-2013]** A new character arrives in this chapter. Meet Alice.

* * *

Chapter 13

**Marionette**

* * *

_"What are we for your kind?" she snapped. "Just snacks? Bags of food, whose lives mean nothing? Is that what I am to you?"_

_Edward cringed at her outburst. "No, Bella!"_

_She turned her back on him, quickly shutting the intercom down._

_"Listen to me!" he begged._

_She was out, running along the corridor before he could finish his plea._

-x-x-x-x-x-

The image of Bella running away from him, along with her parting words, continued to haunt Edward for hours, digging like a spear into his unyielding memory.

Frames from a video he'd seen years before came back to him.

One of the many things Sicily was known for was the tradition of the marionette theater. Those Italian marionettes were works of art, crafted with painted wood and dressed as medieval characters, with shining armor and swords; their shows weren't meant only for children, but depicted legendary events based on history. The onlookers could see their own lives and ideals mirrored through the characters' adventures, and as long as the show lasted, the marionettes were heroes. But when the performance was over, the puppeteer revealed that they were nothing but little statues controlled by his strings.

Edward had heard about those shows when he was still human, and when he'd planned his Grand Tour he'd included a trip to Sicily in his plans; only as a vampire had he gotten the chance to watch those marionettes, on a video.

_They're just like me_, he thought, hunched up on his couch.

His whole existence over the last two centuries had been a performance–a perpetual illusion. He'd played the part of a student even when he'd already achieved degrees upon degrees; he'd disguised himself as a young man even though he was older than any human being on Earth; he'd kept his monstrous nature a secret and allowed himself the luxury of believing that his humanity wasn't lost, that not everything of him had been annihilated on that distant night in Volterra.

More than that, with Bella he'd nursed the hope that even in his condition, even from behind the barrier of a top-security cell, he could experience a strong bond with a human. Bella had been able to do something that no one else had ever accomplished for him: she'd made him overcome all the layers of his isolation. With her, sometimes Edward forgot that they didn't even belong to the same species. With her, he'd been sure that the choice he'd made since the beginning of his supernatural existence–abstaining from humans– had been worth it, because it made him different than the monster whose actions had led to the Drainer's homicides and the death of Bella's mother. With her, and only with her, he wasn't a freak who heard voices inside his head.

But then, Bella had kept her promise. _I won't lie to you_, she'd vowed since their first meeting. And she hadn't. Even when Edward wanted to believe in his delusions, hoping he could cling to them so strongly that they would become true, Bella had seen beyond his mask.

_"What are we for your kind?" she snapped. "Just snacks? Bags of food, whose lives mean nothing? Is that what I am to you?"_

Like the puppeteers at the end of a marionette's performance, she'd shown him his own strings, reminding him that he would never be able to cut them. He was and would always remain nothing more than an inhuman creature meant to bring pain.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In his hotel room in Portland, Robert Walsh tapped nervously on the desk while he waited for his laptop to start. "Alice Whitlock," he mumbled. "Who the hell is she?"

Swan's conference had been a success, as usual. Walsh had beamed when his boss mentioned that he had been making a substantial contribution to the research. Even if they couldn't disclose anything about the extraordinary subject they were currently studying, Walsh knew that the mere association between his name and Swan's would be a blessing for his career. He'd watched the parade of admirers and college students who had circled the famous profiler at the end of his speech; many of them were holding a copy of one of his books and had asked for an autograph. Walsh could almost envision the day when he would be the keynote speaker himself; he couldn't understand how Lee Stephens could have given up such a great opportunity. But he wasn't about to complain, because with Lee out of the game, his own career could only benefit.

It had promised to be a good evening, indeed, until that girl had turned up. Walsh had attended previous conferences with Swan, and in Portland his boss had been his usual self. He was calm and polite, always careful to answer the questions without glorifying the killers he'd caught or studied in his long career. Some of the bolder members of the public had tried to elicit a stronger reaction, asking if he liked looking evil right in the eye or if he was thrilled when he interviewed a serial killer, but Charlie hadn't fallen for their tricks. They thought they were original, but he was more than used to getting questions like those.

Walsh hadn't been surprised even when, as usual, Swan had brushed off the numerous women paying him compliments. He hadn't noticed Alice Whitlock, at first. She was so petite that she'd easily blended in with the crowd of people filling the conference room. She hadn't approached Swan immediately, but had reached for him when he was already on his way toward the door. Swan had waved at his assistant, signaling him to go ahead and call for their car while he quickly listened to whatever the young woman had to say. Walsh had spared her an appraising glance. She was attractive, and it had taken him a moment to realize what it was about her that bothered him. She seemed very young, and with her formal black suit, matching heels, and a leather briefcase, she resembled a high school student dressed like a grown-up. But she was different from the many other students who swarmed around Swan, telling him how they dreamed of becoming profilers and considered him a role model. She exuded confidence and appeared perfectly at ease, as if she already knew that Swan wouldn't hurry away after meeting her.

Walsh hadn't been able to catch the words she'd said to him, but he noticed how Swan had frozen. He'd stopped in his tracks and turned toward her, slightly bowing his head to meet her gaze. At first the girl had given him kind smiles, but then her expression became more serious. She was the only one talking while Swan nodded at her words, seemingly forgetful of anything else around him. Walsh considered going to tell him that the car was ready and they could leave, but before he could take more than a few steps, Swan called him over.

"Meet Alice Whitlock," he'd told his assistant.

They'd shaken hands, and a closer look had confirmed to Walsh that she was young—even younger than he'd assumed before. He'd had to fight against the urge to raise an eyebrow at his boss. _Is he up for a girl who might be younger than his daughter?_

"I'm not coming to the dinner," Swan had informed him. Before Walsh could object, he'd gone on. "Please give my apologies to the conference board, but Miss Whitlock has delivered a message that requires my immediate attention." He'd given him a tight smile. "Enjoy your evening, Robert."

A number of different scenarios paraded through Walsh's thoughts as he searched for information about Miss Whitlock and came up with nothing._ Is she with the FBI? Or the CIA?_ Over the months they'd spent working together, Swan had mentioned a few former colleagues, and other profilers were already known to both him and Stephens, because they'd followed their work when they were still students. But Whitlock didn't ring any bell. _Did she give him a fake name?_ As the night wore on, one question became more and more pressing: was Swan going to replace Stephens with her? Walsh glanced at the clock, counting the hours until the morning, when he and his boss would meet for the second conference scheduled for the weekend. If Whitlock was going to work with them, why hadn't Swan involved him in that decision? He recalled how angered Swan had been after his experiment with showing fresh blood to the freak–he'd even threatened to fire him. _But I told him that I could call the press, and he thought better of it. Could it be...?_ Robert smacked his fist on the desk. Could it be that Swan wanted to replace him? If he was actually going to inform the government about the freak, he could just end the project and get rid of his assistant and the private guards.

An even worse possibility sprang to mind: _What if Whitlock's with the media?_ Walsh barked a bitter laugh. What if his threats had given Swan the idea of using the freak to make money? Such a scoop would be lucrative, to say the least. _No way_, he told himself. _Swan is too dutiful, too goody two-shoes. He'd never have the guts._ Regardless, Walsh fell asleep, musing about the vital importance of beating people to the punch.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After dashing away from the observation gallery, Bella shut the door of her room at the lodge and curled up on her bed. She resented every sob tearing through her, because she knew that Edward would hear it. On a whim, she'd considered heading home as fast as she could, but she'd ended up staying. She was too upset to drive even as far as the closest town, let alone all the way to Seattle. She told herself she needed to get through the next few days, at least until Charlie's return; if her car had wound up smashed against a tree, she wouldn't have been able to tell him what Edward had revealed. Now that she knew how much the truth hurt, and how painful it was to face it alone, she would do whatever she could to prevent her father from undergoing the same experience. She promised herself that in the moment when he got the closure he'd been seeking for the last six years, Charlie would be looking into the face of a person who cared for him, who could understand his grief and would give him her support.

Bella opened one of the large windows overlooking the woods, letting the crisp air fill the room. The scent of the trees made her remember those lost times when the thick forests of Olympic Peninsula had been a beloved place. When she was a little girl, she'd gone camping there with her parents; over the years, nature had become a refuge where she could wander or find a secluded spot to enjoy a book in peace. But then, that sanctuary had been stained with the blood of the people who'd been brought among the trees to become the Drainer's playthings, destroyed by a vampire's gluttony and a psychopath's fantasies.

_And I've taken it out on Edward, associating him with that monster_. As she calmed down, the thought made her shudder.

There had been two killers – a vampire and a human. Comparing Edward to the nomad who'd started the homicides had been a blasphemy. _It would be like accusing Charlie of being like Renée's killer, just because he and the murderer were both men_.

Edward was imprisoned down there, treated as if he were a monster; Charlie had said he was like a lethal weapon, but on what basis?_ Who are the humans and who are the monsters, now?_ If Edward hadn't lied – and nothing made Bella think that he was a liar – it meant he'd always fought against his nature and his instincts, resisting the impulse to kill. Even if humans were little more than food for vampires, Edward had continued to consider them his peers. But at what cost? She would never be able to understand how much he'd had to struggle to maintain his restraint.

_Forgive me_, she thought. Edward's plea echoed in her mind as she recalled how they'd parted on bad terms. If she thought about someone who could comfort her, Edward was still among the very few with whom she'd opened up. What had he called their meetings? _Vampire therapy._ The memory of that moment almost brought a smile to Bella's face and was followed by other images of the kindness with which Edward had always welcomed her.

She left her room and went down the stairs, hoping that her decision would prove to be the right one.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In his cell's small bathroom, Edward switched on the hot water and tried to ease his tension with the scorching shower. He forced himself to focus on the sound of the spray on his skin, wishing that it could muffle the echo of Bella's sobs and frantic heartbeat. The last few hours had been maddening. He couldn't ignore that Bella was crying, but as usual he couldn't get a read on her thoughts. Even if he could have seen into her mind, he was trapped in the cell, unable to reach her. Being damned to witness her pain without being able to offer her comfort was nothing short of torture.

Her heartbeat seemed to get closer and closer. Edward leaned against the tiles of the shower, wondering if he was becoming so obsessed with Bella that his hearing was playing tricks on him. When he heard the door of the observation gallery open and then close, he switched off the water. _She's here._ He took long breaths, bracing himself for whatever she was about to tell him. _She's back._ He wrapped a towel around his hips, but hesitated before leaving the bathroom. The desire to go to her conflicted with the need to protect himself–she despised what he was, and she had every right to do so, in his opinion. But her rejection had the power to hurt him more than his own contempt for what he was.

He stopped behind the door separating the bathroom from his cell and cracked it open. No light came from the observation gallery, but Bella's heartbeat and the sound of her breathing confirmed that she was still there. He resolved to wait until she called for him, but the minutes trickled by without a sound.

He heard the rustle of her clothing, accompanied by footsteps, and he could tell that she was heading for the exit. Moving with the swiftness of his kind, he began to put on his clothes; if she was going to leave, maybe he could manage to get a last glimpse of her.

Edward was pulling his shirt over his head when he froze at the sound of Bella's voice. Her next words—and her obvious terror—nearly made him burst through the door.

"Help!" she cried out. "Somebody help me!"

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**NOTES**

After a few chapters, the cliffies are back :-) I can tell you that many things are going to change in the upcoming chapter. About Garrett's story: it isn't over yet. Bella will tell the rest. Stay tuned.

_Snare_'s extras are available on MyReadingLounge: **h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s stunning prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!


	14. Behind the Barrier

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[7-15-2013]** Things are going to change for Edward and Bella in this chapter. A lot. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 14

**Behind ****the ****Barrier**

* * *

_Edward was pulling his shirt over his head when he froze at the sound of Bella's voice. Her next words—and her obvious terror—nearly made him burst through the door._

_"Help!" she cried out. "Somebody help me!"_

-x-x-x-x-x-

Bella leaned her forehead against the door of the observation gallery. _Stupid_, she chastised herself. _It serves you right._ In order to be safe from the guards' prying eyes while she apologized to Edward for her previous outburst, she'd tampered with the security system. But something had gone wrong. She tried again to open the door, but to no avail. It was locked, and if her guess was right, it would stay that way for the next three hours. She cursed and mentally replayed what she'd done, trying to understand what her mistake had been.

-x-x-x-x-x-

_The small room where the computers controlling the security system were kept was probably the part of the lodge most familiar to Bella, because it had been her office when she'd worked there with her father. It was on the ground floor, far from the observation gallery, because that way an external technician could be granted access to the computers without going to the basement, leaving the secret of the cell and observation gallery intact._

_Bella ran some tests, checking that the systems still worked in the way she'd set them up months before. Back then, she'd connected the cell's cameras to the guards' office, and the surveillance system of the observation gallery would send the audio and video records directly to the computers where Charlie and his assistants stored their files. In the observation gallery there was a panel to switch the main functions on or off, but the core of the security system was in the computer room. Bella worked gingerly, taking notes about what she was going to do before actually putting it into practice. When she'd done her research at the lodge, she'd been free to do all the experiments she wanted to test her theories–the cell had been empty at the time, and there had been a strong possibility that Charlie's lodge would never be used for anything but theoretical research. Now, however, she was well aware that a single mistake from her could set a vampire free, putting the people at the lodge in immediate danger._

A vampire who's probably angry as hell after the way I offended him.

_She double-checked the new settings and started the timer. For the next few hours, the cameras in Edward's cell and the observation room wouldn't work. The guards would get only old recordings on a loop. In order to crack the system that way, she had to switch off the alarms, but she doubted that would be a problem. If Edward refused to talk with her or became hostile, she was going to leave the observation gallery immediately and for good._

-x-x-x-x-x-

Bella pulled again at the doorknob before giving up. The only explanation she could come up with was that someone had changed the settings for the door locks, probably linking them with the alarms. She'd assumed that the locks hadn't been modified in any way, so she hadn't been as meticulous in checking them as she had with the other settings she'd changed. Another explanation could be that there was an electrical problem affecting the entire lodge... _Enough_. She turned on her heel, putting her back against the thick frame of the door, and let out a groan. She could spend the next three hours torturing herself with theories and it would be of no use; she had other problems to face. Although she'd left the lights off, she was all too aware that Edward could locate her just by listening to her heartbeat. _I'm not ready to talk to him_, she repeated to herself. _And yet, I'm stuck here._

When she'd stepped into the observation gallery, she'd found herself panicking under the weight of all the emotions of the past days. She'd stayed, enveloped in the silent darkness of the room, sitting on the floor and trying to find the courage and the words to face Edward, to no avail. The thought that he was only a few feet away from her was strangely comforting–so much so that she imagined how would it have been, being able to snuggle beside him on a couch and let their tension fade away like snow melted by the warmth of their affection. _If only I hadn't ruined everything..._ She'd sighed._ I wish you could read my mind,_ she'd thought at length, wishing Edward could know–without her having to struggle for the right words–how sorry she was and how fond she'd become of him.

She wasn't ready to talk to him, so she'd decided to leave, recalling a quote from_ The Little Prince_: "Words are the source of misunderstandings." A nervous laugh escaped her as she thought about the famous scene of the little prince taming the fox. Edward had said he lived off animal blood–did that mean that, in the little prince's shoes, he would have devoured the fox?

_I'll come back_, Bella had resolved, deciding that she should talk with Charlie before she saw Edward. She would report Edward's revelations about the Drainer to her father and ask him to compare them with the evidence from the cases; once the vampire's explanation was corroborated, the words to apologize to him would come easily.

But everything was more complicated as long as she was trapped in the observation gallery. _What if it lasts longer than three hours? What if there are other problems I'm not aware of, and nobody knows that I'm stuck here?_ The worry made her reach for her purse and rummage through it to find her cell phone. She could call the guard outside and ask him to set her free, but that meant Charlie would find out about her little adventure. He would be upset with her for going into the observation gallery without his knowledge, and he'd be furious if he found out she'd meddled with the security system. But at the moment, Charlie was the least of her concerns; there were worse scenarios forming in her mind.

A click caught her attention. In the room's semi-darkness, Bella squinted to see where it had come from. A shiver ran down her back as she realized what had just happened. Her purse fell from her hands, and her head began to spin as she walked backward.

The door had unlocked–not the door that would set her free, but the one that led to the stairs and to Edward's cell.

She shut her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again, the door would be closed.

She gasped as she realized that her hopes had been shattered.

The door began to open, and the silhouette of a man emerged from the shadows.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Isabella!" Edward had shouted after hearing her cry out for help. He'd shaken his fists in exasperation, fighting against the urge to tear the walls down brick by brick to reach her. _It would only hurt everyone_, he was forced to admit. The guard had a standing order to use the flamethrowers should Edward attempt to escape, and his most recent meal had made him more vulnerable to the fire. Charlie had put an even higher than usual dose of vitamin D in the bag of blood he'd given him before leaving, to the point that the cut on his neck throbbed like a fresh wound. That gash was his Achilles' heel, and Charlie wanted it to last as long as possible.

Edward tried to focus on Bella's heartbeats and breathing, struggling to know if she was okay. She couldn't hear him with the intercom switched off, and her silent mind kept him at bay. His anxiety eased somewhat as he noticed that, although she was upset, he could detect no sign of major medical issues. He heard her walking in the gallery and shuffling some things around.

A buzz drew his thoughts away from her, and his eyes zeroed in on the source of the sound: the cell's solitary exit that, via a staircase, connected his cell to the observation gallery.

His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself moving toward the door. Had she just unlocked it?

He checked the guard's thoughts, expecting the alarms to start blaring at any moment. The guard was actually looking at the surveillance video, but what Edward saw in his mind didn't match with what was currently happening in the cell. In the video, he saw himself sitting on his couch, still as a statue, with his head buried in his hands. He realized that the images had been recorded on the previous day, when he'd spent some time on the couch, mentally replaying the last moments he'd talked with Bella. _What's going on?_ Tentatively, he laid a hand on the door handle and pulled. It swept open. He took a deep breath and checked on the guard again. His mental images told him that the guard's attention was on a newspaper. Edward looked up the narrow, dark stairs; the observation gallery's door was the last barrier separating him from the woman who had come to mean so much to him. Before he could take another breath, he'd already pulled the second door open.

Edward steadied himself before taking a careful breath, sampling Bella's scent. _Be calm._ He recalled how Carlisle had mentored him during his first months as a vampire. _Think of her as a person._ He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head, because right then he had no need to replay his sire's teachings in his mind. _It's her. It's Bella. I would never hurt her._

Her scent engulfed him like a wave, overwhelming in its intensity. His body tensed and he gripped the doorknob, shutting his eyes tightly as if he were underwater, but his control didn't falter. He gulped down the venom and let several seconds go by; only then did he allow himself to savor the way she smelled. It was so good that it made him recall a moment from his human life. He remembered the kitchen in his family home, and the days when he used to bounce in anticipation, waiting for bread or cakes to come out of the oven. More than the food, he missed the feeling of being in the place he considered his refuge, among the people who loved him. He missed his human life, but the young woman in front of him was no less precious than that.

Carefully holding his breath, Edward tried to relax his muscles and forced his fists to unclench. He felt surrounded by a pleasant warmth. _Again_, was all he managed to think. He wanted another taste of that scent, and he would welcome the initial shock if it meant being able to experience that bliss a second time.

But when he let his gaze roam Bella's features, the warmth he'd enjoyed morphed into cold unease. Edward kept his head slightly bowed, hesitating before meeting her eyes. Between her feet, a book had fallen from her open purse, and a lipstick had rolled out onto the floor. Even in the semi-darkness, he could recognize the tension in her muscles; her legs looked ready to bolt, while her arms hugged her torso in a protective posture. Bella's lips were parted, and when his gaze finally met hers, she sank her teeth into her lower lip and couldn't suppress a shudder.

He didn't need to read her mind to know that she couldn't look past the danger he posed. She wasn't seeing him, just a monster.

Edward realized she was about to faint. He would catch her if he had to, preventing her from hitting the floor or the counter, but given how upset she already was, he didn't want to force his contact on her. Perhaps his best course of action would be to distract her.

His expression softened, and he gave her his most reassuring smile—the one he used when he didn't want humans to be afraid of him.

"Bella," he said, his tone seductive.

The minds of the women he'd read over the years had told him how many of them would have given anything for him to address them with that tone. He'd never used his allure to attract humans, and he resolved to bend his personal rules only in Bella's interest. He tilted his head, never breaking eye contact with her, and smirked; a corner of his mouth lifted, making his smile become a crooked grin. "I can finally see that you have gorgeous legs."

He waited for his teasing to have the effect he was hoping for. Bella let out the breath she'd been holding and frowned. Edward didn't move any closer to her, instead trying to convey his reassurance in his smile. Still staring at him, she tried to reach for her phone. As soon as she grabbed it, he stretched out a hand toward her, shaking his head.

Her frown deepened, and her heart started beating too fast again.

"Please," he told her gently. "Give it to me."

She looked at the phone and cringed. Instead of moving toward him, she dropped down to her knees and let it slide on the floor in his direction. It brought to mind police movies where the suspects acted that way when ordered to drop their weapons. She was surrendering, as if asking for mercy, and it saddened him.

Bella sat on the floor, hugging her knees close to her chest. "Are you mad at me?"

He raised his eyebrows at her unexpected question. "Far from it. If you only knew how much I've yearned for this moment." He sat down, mirroring her position. "If I recall our agreement, I get to ask you questions, too. Is that right?"

She nodded.

"Very well, Isabella. I think I've decided what I'd like you to tell me."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**NOTES**

Together, in the same room, for the next few hours. They're going to use that time very well. ;-)

_Snare_'s extras are available on MyReadingLounge: **h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s amazing prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!


	15. Face to Face

Raum

_Snare_

* * *

**[7-29-2013]** How are you spending the summer? Edward and Bella are spending more time together in this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 15

**Face ****to ****Face**

* * *

_Edward sat down, mirroring Bella's position. "If I recall our agreement, I get to ask you questions, too. Is that right?"_

_She nodded._

_"Very well, Isabella. I think I've decided what I'd like you to tell me."_

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Bella stared at Edward's hands as he took her phone and looked down at its screen. He had the long and slender fingers of a pianist, but according to what she'd read about vampires, they were capable of inhuman strength. She wondered if he was about to crush her phone, cutting off her only way of contacting someone outside the observation gallery.

She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them, peering up at Edward. The possibility of her phone being destroyed wasn't her main concern, for the handsome young man in front of her could do much more harm than that; she was well aware that he could end her life before she even realized that he'd moved. _Don't think about it_, she told herself, recalling a documentary about savage animals that were able to smell their prey's fear. _Don't betray me_, she almost pleaded with her body, forcing herself to take a full breath.

Her eyes had grown used to the semi-darkness, and now that she and Edward were face to face, she could get a full view of his features. She'd already noticed how lean he was when she used to look down at him from the observation gallery, but when he'd stepped into the gallery she'd been surprised to see how tall he was, towering over her. Despite his tall frame, the way he moved reminded her of a panther; his movements were fluid, but she wondered if he was holding back in some ways, keeping a tight rein on his strength and speed, so he didn't scare her too much. His eyes reminded her of a feline as well: black like onyx, they shone like polished marble.

When she'd seen a smile lighting up the statuesque perfection of his face–a smile which was meant only for her–for a moment Bella had felt her tension lessen, like her body was trying to tell her what her rational side couldn't accept: Edward had no intention of hurting her.

She didn't have the courage to ask him what he wanted to know, afraid that her voice would come out strained. So she waited for him to go on.

Edward pushed a button on her phone, revealing its background image. "Venice," he murmured.

She nodded.

"Did you have a chance to visit on your trip to Italy?"

Again, Bella didn't trust herself to speak aloud, limiting herself to a nod. When Edward said nothing further, she feared that he was annoyed by her lack of cooperation. "Have you been?" she forced herself to say.

Edward closed his eyes and a crease appeared between his eyebrows, as if he were trying to recall a distant memory. "I think so. I can't remember it clearly, though."

"You can't remember it?" Bella echoed. _Isn't he supposed to have a perfect memory?_

He shrugged. "I was...well, it happened before I was changed into what I am. Many memories were lost lost during the metamorphosis." He looked away, but she noticed how sad his expression had become. "In time, some of them came back, while others are gone for good."

"Does it bother you?" She slapped a hand over her lips as soon as the words left her mouth. While keeping him talking seemed a good idea, she doubted that encouraging him to think about something he found unpleasant could be in her best interest. She didn't need him to be upset when she was the closest option to unleash his frustration upon.

Her worry didn't go unnoticed by Edward; a small smile returned to his face. "Isabella." He pronounced her name slowly, caressing it with his voice. "It's me. It's just you and I talking to each other without the need to devise riddles or hide hints in a picture. Why are you acting so differently?"

"That was before..." she mumbled.

"Before?"

"Before we talked about the Drainer and I...accused you."

"Bella–"

"You've every right to be angry at me," she went on, interrupting him. "Just please, don't hurt me." A sob escaped her.

"Bella!" he implored again, leaning toward her.

"I know that Charlie has hurt you, but he's suffered so much, and losing me after what happened..." Her tears made her words unintelligible.

Edward gaped at her in horror. "What are you saying? How can you believe I would mean you any harm?" He shook his head, confused by what she'd just admitted. "Why did you unlock the doors if you're so afraid of me?"

"I didn't."

"So what happened?"

She wiped at her tears and swallowed a lump in her throat. "I don't know." For a moment she wondered how much she should reveal, but when she looked at him again, thinking about his words and what they'd shared in their past meetings, she resolved to trust him once again. "Before coming here, I switched off the alarms and disabled the surveillance system. I wanted to talk to you without being watched or disturbed. But something went wrong, and now this door is locked, while the ones connecting the gallery to the cell are...well, obviously you know what happened there."

"Was that the only reason you were calling for help?"

"Yes."

Edward sighed in relief. "I was so worried..." His peace of mind didn't last long, though. If Bella wasn't there out of free will, and if she hadn't unlocked the doors on purpose, her attitude toward him made perfect sense. "Do you want me to go back to the cell?"

His question left her puzzled, but at the same time helped her to calm down. Edward could have taken the opportunity to get out–he could have forced the door of the observation gallery, or could have taken her as an hostage to make the guard free him. Instead, it seemed to her that he cared for her well-being more than his own freedom.

"No. I've set a timer, and everything should go back to normal in a few hours. Meanwhile, if you still want to talk..."

He could sense that she was more at ease, and it gave him comfort. "On one condition." Before she went on the defensive again, he added, "I only ask that you don't lie to me. You never have before, and I'm grateful for that. If you're scared, if you want me to leave, if there's anything I can do to help you..."

"I will tell you."

He pointed to the plastic chairs in a corner. "Would you rather sit over there?"

She loosened the grip of her arms around her knees and crossed her legs in front of herself, but remained seated on the wooden floor. "This is fine for me, but if you want..."

"It's okay for me as well." He offered her the cell phone. Slowly, Bella moved closer to him and retrieved it. Their fingers didn't touch, but he could feel her warmth. "Sorry I took it," he went on. "But if other people had started arriving out of the blue, it would have been hard for me."

"To control yourself?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I was worried, thinking that something bad was happening to you, and I wouldn't have been able to deal with the guard at the same time." He averted his eyes from her. "I didn't know I was the reason you were calling for help in the first place."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he countered. "It's only natural for you to be repelled by what I am. Your sense of self-preservation tells you that I am dangerous—something to shy away from, something to be feared." His voice became a soft murmur. "Although I don't want you to be afraid."

"You care for me," she acknowledged.

His eyes locked with hers. He'd already committed to memory every detail of her delicate features, but he was never satisfied with looking at her, especially now that he was able to do so without the filter of the gallery windows. "That I do," he confirmed, though he was aware that those words weren't enough to explain how much she meant to him.

"You've done so much for me, Edward." Bella's gaze softened as she recalled what they had shared. "I've come to look forward to my visits with you. When I talk with you, it's like I know you can understand what I feel–because you've been around a long time, or because I guess you've seen a lot of pain. But there's so much more."

With a nod, he encouraged her to go on. Her words were the only way for him to know what she was thinking, and discovering how she saw him was like being in front of the only mirror that could show him how he really was.

"You're stronger than anyone I've ever met, and not because of your...of your supernatural abilities, if you understand what I mean. On the contrary, it's like every time you choose to act against the instincts of your kind, you add to your inner strength. I can't even imagine how angry and hateful I would be in your place, but you don't give up. You said you've never attacked a human, and I believe you."

"And you aren't going to be my exception. Can you trust me?"

She nodded, recalling how he'd always welcomed her, and how he'd saved Lee's life. Her lack of trust would have been an insult to him. "I guess I'll never know how hard you have to fight to keep yourself on the path you've chosen, and yet you do it."

Edward didn't dare to say a word when Bella finished speaking. The woman whose mind he couldn't read was the one who could see into his silent heart. She knew only snippets of the centuries he'd lived through, and yet it seemed she'd witnessed every step of his perennial struggle to hold onto his humanity.

In a novel, he'd read that people had the power to create an inferno out of the place where they lived, depending on their choices. They could choose evil—to the point that they could no longer see it—or they could resist, seeking everything that, even in the midst of an inferno, didn't belong to it. The latter had been Edward's decision, but–with the exception of Carlisle–no one, not even the few other vampires who abstained from human blood, had ever understood him and his values as fully as Bella had just done. It was a trait he'd kept from his human life: he'd always had the strong desire to make something good out of his life, and it had been only enhanced by his immortality. He couldn't settle for using his talents and the time he'd been given only to avoid doing evil. Even during his time as a mortal, he'd dreamed of accomplishing something lasting and worthwhile.

Bella fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, looking down at her hands. "What I know of your kind still scares me," she confessed. "But you...I could never be repelled by you, Edward." She took a long breath, and the tremor in her voice told him that wherever her thoughts were taking her, it wasn't a happy place. "You're supposed to be a creature of the darkness, and yet for me you became a sign that I must not surrender to the darkness. Even your jokes have helped me. For the last few months, it seemed that everyone was looking at me as a problem. I had become an issue to fix, while I never felt that way with you."

_The last few months..._ he considered. He imagined how hard it must have been for Bella to cope with her mother's death, but somehow she'd found the strength to move forward. She'd graduated, and she had talked about a job she liked. He couldn't reconcile that with the impression of a broken soul he'd gotten from her in their first meeting. It seems she's forgotten how to smile, he'd thought back then. "The first time you came here, you said your father was worried about you," he recalled.

"He still is."

"And it isn't just because of your mother, is it?"

She shook her head. "I lost the man I loved." Her face crumpled, and Edward had to summon all his control to stop himself from going to her. "I lost him in every possible way."

"Talk to me," he pleaded. He didn't even attempt to read her thoughts, and not just because he knew her mind was closed to him. Seeing her in sorrow without knowing the cause of it was torturing him, but he would never have pried into her most secret wounds unless she willingly disclosed them to him.

"Garrett died in a car accident in Chicago." The words lingered between them, and Edward recalled how she'd snapped at him when they'd talked about cars and he'd quipped that he was a speedy driver. "He was pursuing his career as an artist, and we were supposed to meet in a few days after the accident. But then, I discovered that the man I knew had disappeared long before the crash that claimed his life."

He'd never heard her speak with such bitterness. Her expression had hardened; her hands clenched into fists. "What do you mean?"

"Garrett was on drugs when he went off the road, and he wasn't alone. According to the witnesses and the people who knew him in Chicago, he and his _girlfriend_ were partying all night, and it wasn't the first time, either. Apparently they used to do it to let off steam whenever he was particularly busy with an upcoming exhibit." She looked up at Edward, as if he could finally give her the answers to the questions that had been eating her alive. "After that, everything I was doing lost any meaning. What had I accomplished in my own life, if I couldn't distinguish between what was true and what was just an illusion? What did I have left, if what mattered most to me was nothing but a well-crafted lie?"

Edward's touch was light like a cool breeze as he cradled Bella's face in his hands. She didn't flinch; on the contrary, she lowered her head against the crook of his neck, hiding her tears against him. Carefully, he let his arm circle her back and drew her closer to his chest. People couldn't lie to him, for he would have seen the truth in their thoughts, but he lied to them every day. He'd always reassured himself with the knowledge that he didn't do it to harm anyone; regardless, his existence was nothing but a façade. The woman in his embrace was the only human who knew who he was, and he felt grateful that he hadn't tried to fool her with his usual masquerade.

"Let it go," he murmured close to Bella's ear, caressing her hair and holding her through the sobs. The urge to protect her overwhelmed him. Worried that he could hurt her, he loosened his embrace. A wisp of her scent sent flames down his throat. He stopped breathing and further distanced himself.

"Don't leave me," she pleaded.

He swallowed the venom pooling in his mouth and took only a tentative breath. "I don't know how to be close to you."

She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his chest. "This is fine."

The ring of Bella's phone startled them. They both glanced at it, and Charlie's name appeared on the screen.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**NOTES**

Now you know what happened to Garrett. The hours Bella and Edward have together aren't over yet!

The novel Edward recalls is _Invisible Cities_, by Italo Calvino. Here's the full passage: "The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space."

_Snare_'s extras are available on MyReadingLounge: **h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s precious prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!


	16. Exception

Raum

_Snare_

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**[8-12-2013]** The support after the previous chapter has been stunning, and _Snare_ passed 1,000 reviews! You readers are fabulous!

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Chapter 16

**Exception**

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_The ring of Bella's phone startled them. They both glanced at it, and Charlie's name appeared on the screen._

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Edward looked away, giving Bella her privacy, but she read her father's text out loud.

"_You okay? I'm going to sleep right now. See you on Sunday evening_."

She noticed what time it was. The hours she would be forced to spend in the observation gallery had seemed so long when she'd first discovered that she was locked in, but now they were going by too quickly.

Edward was anxious to know what she would tell Charlie. "_I'm in the arms of a vampire_" didn't sound like the best message she could send him, especially when he was hours away from the lodge. He wondered if she had any way to alert her father about what was going on at the prison–a code, or a secret signal–and if she would use it.

"I'm telling him that I'm okay," Bella said while typing her reply. "He has a second conference tomorrow, so I'm wishing him good luck."

Another text arrived a few seconds later. _Still awake? The first conference went well, and I'm ready for the second round. I'll be at the lodge on Sunday. Sleep well._

"My father will be back in less than two days," Bella said to Edward. She hesitated, her gaze cast downward. "Will you still be here then?"

Edward spared a glance at the gallery's door. The months he'd spent following the thoughts of the people working at the lodge had provided him a detailed map of almost every room in the building. He knew every possible route from the basement to the exit and could tell down to the second how long it would take to leave at a human pace. Even though his weakened state wouldn't allow him to run at his full speed, he could have been outside–far beyond the range of the flamethrowers– before the guard or even Bella realized which direction he'd taken.

The heartbeat of the human girl beside him quickened as she waited for him to answer. His freedom had never been so close, but it came with a price higher than he'd ever envisioned. If he left immediately, he would be leaving Bella alone to deal with Charlie, with the burden of telling him that she was the one who, albeit by accident, had made his escape possible. And then, when she told her father about the Drainer, would he believe her? Edward was sure that Charlie would check the evidence anyway, even if he trusted Edward's revelations; but would he tell Bella the truth about what he found? He cringed at the possibility that her father could keep the truth from her and tell her that what Edward had disclosed had been nothing but a pack of lies, delivered with the purpose of tricking her into setting him free. The resentment Charlie had toward vampires–not without reason, given the pain one of those monsters had brought to him and his family–could make him act so.

_I won't see her anymore_. Defeat weighed heavily upon Edward._ But until the last moment, I want her to know that I'm on her side_. "I'll stay."

"You said I could tell Charlie what you've revealed about the Drainer," Bella reminded him.

"Of course you can. I've told you everything I know."

"I'm going to talk with him as soon as he's back."

He nodded. "The evidence will confirm what I reported."

Bella distanced herself from him. "How do you know that for sure?"

He drew a hand through his hair, avoiding her searching gaze. "I can't answer your question." His mindreading abilities should remain a secret. Even Carlisle had suggested that he should talk about his gift with other vampires only when he was sure that he could trust them. Edward had noticed how even his relationship with Tanya and her coven had changed, becoming more formal and embarrassing, once they'd been informed of his talent. The only one who hadn't guarded his thoughts around him was Carlisle.

"Why not?" she pressed. "There are moments when it seems like we can talk about everything. But then, out of the blue, there's a barrier between us. You already told me that you weren't involved in the homicides, but I get the sense that there's more you're not telling me. Were you there as a witness, maybe?"

"No," he rushed to answer. He stretched his arm out toward her, offering her his open hand and silently asking for hers. When she rested her fingers on his palm, he took her hand between his and lightly grazed her skin with his thumb. "I trust you, Bella. There's no one who knows as much about me as you do." A pang of sorrow hit him at his own admission. Carlisle had been destroyed, and he'd never opened up with anyone else–human or vampire–like he had with Bella, sharing with her his memories of his human life. "I can't answer your question, but if there's anything else I can do for you, just ask."

"Would you talk with Charlie about the Drainer, just like you did with me? I'll be there, and I'll tell him what you said to me. But getting the truth directly from you would be important for him."

"I will."

She squeezed his hand. He almost didn't feel the pressure, but the warmth and the softness of her touch made him long for more. _A few hours at most, and then we'll be separated again, and for good._ He remembered how she had looked when he watched her from the cell, and he wondered how he would stand the distance now that he knew how it felt to be close to her. "Bella, please keep in mind that talking with Charlie won't be easy, for any of us," he warned her. "He's interrogated me over and over about the homicides, and I've always denied that I knew anything about them."

"And he didn't want me to come to the observation gallery again," she added. "I've never betrayed his trust, and here I am, about to do it again."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"My guess is that no one has discovered that I'm here or noticed that I changed the settings of the security system, right?" Bella already knew about his enhanced hearing, and for good measure Edward also checked the thoughts of the guard who had the task of keeping an eye on the cell's surveillance video; he didn't suspect a thing. If the guard had been aware of what was going on, he would have already forced his way through the door. "No one knows," he confirmed.

She nodded slowly before taking a deep breath. "Whatever Charlie will think about it, I want you to run away after you've spoken with him."

Edward stared at her in disbelief.

"There should be a way to unlock the doors at a set time," she went on, already contemplating how she could alter the security system. "As long as no one knows that it happened before, they won't be on alert. There's a rear exit from the building, and once you hear the doors unlock, you can be out of here in a matter of minutes."

He almost struggled to keep up with all the different emotions parading across her face. Her heart was beating so fast that the glorious scent of her blood enveloped him in heavy waves. She was going to risk everything for him. She trusted him–a monster– so much that she would help him, even against her father's will.

"Just promise me that you won't make me regret it," she pleaded. "You won't hurt anyone, will you?"

"I promise." His mind began to run wild with the possibilities of what he would do once he had his freedom back. If Bella's plan worked, it was possible that his existence would remain a secret kept by the few people who had been at the lodge. As far as he knew, Charlie hadn't talked openly about him with his former colleagues at the FBI, and he had every interest in making sure his assistants kept quiet about their subject. If the government and the press didn't know about him, there was still the possibility that the Volturi wouldn't find out about his existence. _This could work._ For the first time in months, Edward allowed himself to hope. He would disappear. _Perhaps, given enough time, Bella will forget...it will be as if I'd never existed._ But he knew the same would not be true of him. He would keep her with himself—in his thoughts and in his heart—for every day of forever.

Bella raised her free hand and cupped his cheek. "Is this okay?"

He was put on alert by her unexpected touch, but then he gave her a small nod.

"I saw your portrait in the gallery of Masen Manor," she told him softly.

He smiled at the memory. His family home had been in poor condition when he'd bought it almost half a century before, hiding his identity behind a foundation. He doubted he would ever go back there, but he'd followed the restoration work with great interest. He wondered if Bella had also seen the portrait of his parents. The gallery in England had only a copy, though; he'd had the original shipped to one of his residences in America.

"Your eyes were green in the painting," she went on. "Is that correct?"

Edward could see himself mirrored in Bella's eyes. The close proximity to her had made his irises black. "Yes. I had green eyes. Their color changed when..."

"I understand." She thought about something she'd wanted to ask him since one of their first meetings. "And your neck? Does that have anything to do with...?"

Out of instinct, Edward brought his hand to his wound, which was only partially covered by the collar of his t-shirt.

"A vampire did that on the night I was captured." Only a few inches separated that gash from the scar Carlisle's teeth had left on his neck when he'd bitten him, starting his metamorphosis. "That other wound left a scar as well, but it's almost invisible–at least to your eyes."

"Were you in Italy when you were changed?"

He nodded, surprised that talking with her about the most secret aspects of his existence felt so natural.

"I was still visiting Europe when Renée was killed," she confessed.

"You said it had been the best summer of your life."

"Yes. It was the high point, before everything fell down into the abyss."

He gently squeezed her shoulder to comfort her, but immediately worried if his grasp had been too tight. "Did I hurt you?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Not at all. I'm not that breakable, you know."

"I beg to differ," he replied with a smile. "It's just that I'm not used to this kind of contact."

She studied his face a moment before dropping her gaze to the arm that loosely encircled her back. "Do you mean you've never...hugged anyone?"

He let out an embarrassed chuckle. "No, if by 'anyone' you mean a human," he admitted. "It took me a long time to achieve enough control over my instincts."

Her frown told him that she'd immediately understood what he meant.

"And then, humans shy away from us, even without knowing what we are."

"But what about friends, or..." Bella stopped, and her cheeks grew red. Edward was, without any doubt, the most attractive man she'd ever seen. The perfection of his body, the musicality of his voice, and even his scent appealed to her. She couldn't believe that he hadn't met plenty of women who'd tried to capture his interest, or that he couldn't have anyone he wanted.

Edward let his fingertips glide over her warm skin, and his eyes glistened, slightly amused by what her incomplete question had suggested.

"For decades I've mingled with humans, but I've never held anyone in my arms like this. It hasn't been for lack of...opportunities." He was sure that if he could have blushed, he would have at that point. "But I'd never felt that I could give such a gesture the meaning it should have." He didn't dare to meet her gaze, but quickly went on. "As far as friends go, I've walked among my kind and yours, but that doesn't mean I could allow myself a human friend. What friendship could I offer, without being able to tell them the truth? You saw my portrait. I haven't changed in more than two centuries, and that means I must relocate every few years so I don't arouse suspicion about my unchanging appearance. I can't be more than a fleeting acquaintance in the lives of the humans I meet." Edward's expression was serene as he explained what his existence had been so far, but he couldn't keep the sadness from his voice, and Bella caught it.

"But with me..." she prompted.

He lowered his head toward her, to the point that she could feel his cool breath as he spoke. "You're an exception in so many ways, Isabella."

Bella acted before she could have second thoughts. She rose from her sitting position, rolling onto her knees, and circled her arms around Edward's shoulders. She rested her face against his collarbone, and her heartbeat echoed through his silent chest.

For a moment, Edward was so startled that his breath caught in his throat. The trust she'd put in him with her gesture, as well as the acceptance and the affection she was showing to him, moved him so much that he felt like she had the power to give him back his humanity.

"I'm sorry that you had to give up so much," she whispered to him.

"Don't be, because with you I've gotten back more than I could dream of. You're everything to me."

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**Thanks for reading!**

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**NOTES**

See? No cliffies. I'm leaving them in a good place this time, and it's getting better in the upcoming chapter. Stay tuned.

_Snare_'s extras are available on MyReadingLounge: **h.t.t.p : / / myreadinglounge. blogspot. c.o.m/**

_Thank you!_ to _Snare_'s lovely prereaders/betas: **Camilla10**, **SatinCoveredSteel**, and **Marlena516**.

I'm on Twitter (**RaumTweet**).

I reply to every review, but if your review is anonymous or posted as a Guest with a name that isn't your FFnet one, or if your private messages are disabled, I can't write back to you. Drop me a line and I'll reply!


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